


when the wolves come out

by countthestars



Category: Little Mix (Band), One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Friday Night Lights Fusion, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Werewolf, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/F, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-19
Updated: 2017-05-19
Packaged: 2018-10-25 21:58:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 46,137
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10773291
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/countthestars/pseuds/countthestars
Summary: Liam laughs, and he doesn't need heightened hearing to know that it sounds forced. Both Jade and Niall are staring at him, mouths gaping. Jade's the first to find her voice, flat and disbelieving. “Harry Styles showed up after practice.”“To accuse you of lycanthropy?” Niall finishes, eyebrows climbing halfway up his forehead.(aka: friday night wolves)





	when the wolves come out

**Author's Note:**

> i don't even know where to begin. this started out as tumblr drabble about a year ago, and has taken entirely too long to turn into an actual story. i don't how many people have read various drafts of this, or have been following along on tumblr, but my sincere thanks to everyone who's encouraged me along the way. a massive, massive thank you to ferryboatpeak, who helped shape this story in its earlier stages and polished it off at the end -- it would not be the same without your research and organizational skills to keep the plot on track!! any remaining mistakes are my own. 
> 
> i also wanna thank the patient mods for another wonderful big bang round. and last, but far from least, thank you three-things-sid for the beautiful artwork. i can't believe how perfectly you captured everything!
> 
> title from 'wolves' by one direction for obvious reasons. also, there are quite a few references to FNL, but if you haven't seen the show it shouldn't matter as none of the characters/events really correlate, other than borrowing quite a few names of rival football teams :)

* * *

 

**[part one: preseason]**

Liam wakes up with a lurch, heart thudding in his chest and panic clawing at his throat, but he can't remember why. A bad dream, maybe. He rubs an unsteady hand over his face, his palm clammy with cold sweat, and forces himself to take a few deep breaths.

It's early, bright morning sunlight filtering in through the open blinds, and his room is in its usual messy state, clothes and papers and football equipment covering half the floor. Swinging his legs out of bed, Liam pushes to his feet, yawning as he stretches his arms over his head until his joints crack. He stoops down to pick up his discarded shirt from yesterday and the memory comes crashing back, hitting him with enough force to knock the air from his lungs.

Liam drops the shirt like it's burned him. Twisting wildly to crane his neck far enough to see, he runs his hands down his left side, over his lower back, but his fingers find nothing but smooth skin until they bump the waistband of his boxers. There's no pain, no gashes or bruising, not even any scabbing like he expected. He's fine. Whole and intact.

He sucks in another deep breath, letting it out slowly. A dream, then. Just a scarily vivid dream.

On bare feet, Liam pads towards his dresser, pulling out a clean shirt and tugging it roughly over his head. He finds a pair of shorts next, dressing quickly before heading downstairs for breakfast. On his way out the door, he kicks the discarded t-shirt under the bed to gather dust.

He's careful to ignore the splotch of dried blood staining the fabric.

-

For a Tuesday, Rigg’s Diner is packed. The A/C clunks ominously, producing more noise than cold air, and sweat pricks uncomfortably beneath the brim of Liam's white paper hat. Smiling with patience he doesn't feel, he asks, “Will that be all?”

“Yes, that should do it. Actually, you know what? Why don't we make that medium coke a large, instead.” Mr. Henderson grins at Liam and winks, like this is a secret just between the two of them. Locking his face muscles stiffly into place, Liam cancels out the medium soft drink and punches in a large.

“That'll be $9.86,” he says, and Mr. Henderson shakes his head, pulling his wallet from his back pocket.

“What, no Lions discount?” he jokes. At least, Liam thinks he's joking. Mr. Henderson slips a few bills from his wallet, peeling off a ten and handing it to Liam. “How do you think you boys will do this season, hmm? Got your eye on that championship ring?” His own fingers are bare, a thin sliver of skin on his left ring finger still paler than the rest. _Married to the game_ , his mother had tsked when she'd heard the news. _You'd do well to remember there's more to life than football, Liam_.

Hitting the cash button, Liam slides the money into the drawer, carefully counting out the correct change. “Yes, sir. We don't report for practice until next week, so it's early to say, but... I think this year is our year.”

Mr. Henderson nods in approval, tucking his wallet away. “You'll be one hell of a captain, Payne, if you keep that attitude up. The Lions are in good hands with you.”

Trying to ignore the heat in his cheeks, Liam mumbles, “Thank you, sir. Your order will be up soon.”

Despite the steady stream of customers, the rest of Liam's shift drags on slowly. When he's got half an hour left and the minute hand seems to have lost all its steam, Niall and Jade come bursting in, bickering loudly.

“What? No, you're insane. Mint's a _terrible_ flavor. It tastes like toothpaste.”

“You don't know what you're talking about, Horan,” Jade tells him in her little voice. She pauses delicately before adding, “Maybe if you didn't have such an aversion to mint, you'd be able to get a girlfriend.”

“Oh, low blow. Low blow.” Striding up to the counter, Niall props himself on one elbow, giving Liam his saddest puppy eyes. “Can you believe this abuse?”

Jade reaches up to fix the bow in her hair, unbothered. “It's not abuse if it's true.”

Niall breathes on her in retaliation and she swats his arm, pretending to gag. Liam shakes his head, smiling his first real smile of the day.

“What are you two up to, then?”

“Bored as shit,” Niall says, eyeing the menu over Liam's shoulder like he hasn't got it memorized. “Hey, bro, can I get a chocolate shake?”

Liam raises one eyebrow. “You got any money?”

“Honestly, Payno,” Niall says with exasperation, fishing a few wrinkled bills from his pocket and handing them over. “You're team captain. You can get away with handing out some free merchandise now and then.”

“I'm team captain because I have integrity,” Liam tells him, even as he punches in the code for the employee discount. Flicking his gaze towards Jade, he asks, “What about you? Do you want anything?”

She smiles sweetly. Liam's long since learned not to trust that smile. “No, I'll just have some of Niall's.”

Niall looks outraged. “Like hell you will!”

Leaving them to fight it out, Liam grabs for a cup, pouring in a splash of milk and a few squirts of chocolate syrup. His hands move on autopilot as he fills it the rest of the way with soft-serve and blends it all together with the mixer, popping on a lid before he slides it over the counter to Niall. Jade promptly sneaks her hand out to grab it, dancing out of Niall's reach as she shoves a straw through the lid and steals a large slurp.

It's on the tip of Liam's tongue to tell them about the strangely vivid dream, if only so they can reassure him it's all in his head. The bell above the door chimes as another customer enters, though, and Liam fixes a polite smile in place as Niall and Jade settle at one of the tables, two straws stabbed through the lid of Niall's shake. There's a pleased curve to Jade's lips, while Niall slumps in his seat in defeat. Liam has to tear his gaze away, focusing on taking the next order and shoving his doubt aside.

It's fine. Liam's got more important things to worry about, anyway. Practice starts next week, and he's got every intention of taking the East Dillon Lions all the way to State.

-

In the week leading up to the first practice, Liam pushes himself to the limit. He's kept in shape in the off-season, lifting weights and running on a daily basis, but it's like the building adrenaline has lit a fire inside of him. Liam runs until his lungs burn and stops watching the clock, because while he knows his clip is fast, the numbers aren't right. They can't be.

He calls Niall after one of his jogs, still breathing a little heavily, but his recovery time is quicker these days. He's team captain, he reminds himself. He's been training all summer for this. It's just paid off more than he anticipated.

“'Sup, Leemo?” Niall says. Liam can hear him plucking guitar strings in the background, a not-quite melody that's missing something.

“Have you tried a D minor after that last chord? I think it could fit,” Liam says without thinking.

Niall sets down the guitar, the wood thunking against the floorboards of his room. “Have you developed telepathy since the last time we hung out? That's fucking creepy, Payno.”

“What? No, I could just – you were playing really loudly,” Liam argues.

For a second, Niall is quiet. Then, “A D minor, really? I dunno, bro.”

“It was just a suggestion,” Liam says. “Anyway, that's not why I called.”

“Why did you call?” Niall asks, already sounding distracted. He must've picked up the guitar again, because Liam can hear the same chord progression, this time with a D minor slotted in at the end. It sounds better, and Liam bites back a smile.

“Um. Well. It's a stupid question, maybe.”

“Try me,” Niall says.

“Right. Um.” Liam sucks in a sharp breath through his nose, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth. “Do you think it's possible for every clock in your house to break at the exact same time? Just like. Hypothetically, or whatever.”

Niall hums thoughtfully. “If you had a power outage or something, yeah.”

Liam chews on his lip some more. He doesn't realize he's been biting hard enough to break the skin until he tastes blood. “Sure, but I meant more like – all the clocks suddenly being half an hour behind. That could happen, right? Just like. Oh, a prank, maybe?” Ruth and Nicola don't live at home anymore, and Liam's mom isn't really the pranking type, but it's the most plausible explanation Liam's come up with so far.

“Sure,” Niall agrees. “Or maybe there's a wormhole in your house, have you considered that? A rift in the space-time continuum, fucking with all your clocks.”

“Niall, you're not being helpful.”

“Well I'm sorry, bro, but it's a stupid fucking question – uh, no offense,” he tacks on hastily. “Where is this coming from, anyway?”

Liam sighs. “It's nothing, okay. You're right, I'm just being stupid.”

“Not what I said,” Niall interjects.

“I probably – probably just looked at the time wrong, before I left for my run, that's all.” An easy enough mistake to make, since every single day this week he's managed to make the same one. He's switched to running in the mornings, though, ever since – well. The point is, his brain is still fuzzy with sleep when he leaves. He's probably just confusing the glaring red numbers on the clock above the stove because he's not all the way awake yet. That's all.

He definitely hasn't cut his usual five mile run down to fifteen minutes.

“Listen, I should get going. I'll see you at practice tomorrow?”

“Bright 'n early, Captain,” Niall says, fingers still plucking away at his guitar. He misses a note, swearing under his breath.

Liam ends the call, slipping inside to grab his water bottle from the fridge. He doesn't look at the clock.

-

The first practice is brutal. Most of the guys aren't in playing shape, haven't spent the off-season training the way Liam has, and it shows. Even Niall, who Liam was able to bully into the occasional run over the summer, is red-faced and panting, sweat dripping down his face as he tries to catch his breath between wind sprints.

“I'm dying,” he tells Liam. “No, that's a lie. I'm dead, and this is hell.”

“No, this is Texas,” Liam grins. It's early, but the heat is already oppressive, the sun beating down on them from a cloudless sky.

Coach blows his whistle. With ringing ears, Liam takes off in a burst of speed, leading his teammates across the field. It feels good, running with a purpose, to be part of the team again. Still, when the rest of the boys start struggling, Liam holds himself in check. He wasn't made captain because he's the best. He was made captain because he's going to make sure everybody else is their best.

When Coach calls the end of practice, Niall flops down onto the field on his back, one arm draped dramatically over his face. He's breathing hard, his skinny chest heaving, and Liam can practically hear the way his heart is pumping, the blood racing through his veins.

Liam bounces on his toes, too amped with adrenaline to sit next to Niall. “God, I feel like – I could go play a game right now,” he says. “I just wanna sink my claws into a Panther, you know?”

“Stop,” Niall groans. “All I want is a shower, and even that's negotiable.” Shifting his arm, he manages to squint up at Liam. “And I hate to break it to you, bro, but you're a quarterback. You shouldn't be tackling anybody.”

“No, I know, but. I'm just saying, Nialler. I wanna go out there and _win_.”

“I'd settle for a nap,” Niall decides.

Laughing, Liam reaches down, offering Niall a hand. When Niall grabs it, he pulls Niall to his feet, steadying him when he wobbles a little, clearly shaky on his feet. “How about lunch instead? My mom will make us something. You and Jade should come by.”

“That,” Niall says, grabbing for a water bottle and dumping the entire thing over his head, “Is the best idea that's come out of your mouth all day.” He shakes himself off like a wet dog, and Liam shoves him playfully towards the locker room.

“Shower first, or I'll never hear the end of it from my mom. You reek, Horan.”

“Fuck off,” Niall tells him cheerfully, and Liam chases him all the way to the locker room. Because he's such a gracious captain, he even lets Niall win.

-

Over the next week, Liam's happy mood slowly erodes. Coach has them doing two-a-days, and it wears heavily on the guys. Liam does what he can to keep them motivated, to keep them hungry for a championship ring, but the savage heat has them all flagging.

Hovering near where defense is running drills, he briskly claps his hands, shouting words of encouragement to keep the boys pumped up. “Good hustle, Clifford, good hustle. C'mon, Samuels, you can do better than that. Pick up your feet, man!”

Samuels curls his lip as he jogs past Liam, face red with exertion and tendrils of his long hair sticking to his sweat-slick skin. “Don't you have an offense to go annoy?”

The heat gets to Samuels, makes him snap off easily. Liam knows this. He knows all his players. It doesn't stop his jaw from clenching at Samuels' tone.

“I'm doing just fine here, thanks,” Liam says, putting every ounce of effort he has into keeping his voice steady. “Been watching you for five minutes, and you haven't managed to land a hit yet. Think maybe you need some personalized attention.”

Clifford watches with obvious discomfort as Samuels steps in close to Liam, until they're face to face, toe to toe. The sour stench of Samuels' lunch is still on his breath, his nostrils flaring as he stares Liam down, but Liam doesn't flinch. “Run it again.”

His mouth a tired sneer, Samuels says, “I don't think I like your tone, _Captain_. Back off, alright? Practice is almost over, we're all dying in this heat. You need to chill out.”

“I said _run it again_ ,” Liam snaps. “Until you lay Clifford out. You think the Panthers are going to go easy on you because it's hot out? You think Westcott's gonna let you run all over them when you get tired? You want to get to State, then don't give me excuses. Give me perfection.”

Chest puffing up, Samuels retorts, “You wanna talk to me like that, you better have a whistle around your neck.”

Liam bristles, his pulse spiking. “You wanna talk to _me_ like that, you better back it up.” He jerks his chin at Clifford, who moves off the line. Liam takes his spot. “Go on, then. Back it up. Take me down. You do that, you won't hear another word from me.”

Samuels' eyes flick to the side, darting around before landing back on Liam, like he's trying to figure out where the trap is. “Fuck off, bro,” he says at last. “Coach will kill me if I injure our quarterback before the season even starts.”

Liam's mouth curls into a grin, or maybe a snarl. It's hard to say, to focus on anything that isn't the rush of blood in his ears, the red pricking at the edge of his vision. “You're awful sure of yourself. Talk a big game, don't you, but you can't even--”

He cuts himself off as Samuels charges, head ducked, shoulder driving into Liam's chest. Time speeds up and slows down all at once, and in the blink of an eye, Samuels is on his back, gasping for air. His lip is split, bright red blood welling until Samuels wipes it away with the back of his wrist.

“The fuck?” he chokes out as Liam scrambles off him, sitting back on his heels and pressing his palms flat against the ground. The grass pricks at his skin and he digs his fingers into the dirt, feels it crumble when he clenches his hands into fists. Distantly, a whistle blows, but Liam barely registers the noise.

“Payne! What the hell is going on?” Coach barks out, jogging over. Someone's trying to help Samuels to his feet, but he shoves him off. Liam pushes to his own feet, and for one alarming moment, it feels like his knees are going to buckle before he gets his muscles under control.

“Just – tackling drills,” he manages.

Samuels says nothing, but the look in his eyes screams barely contained fury and resentment. Coach studies them both for a long moment before blowing his whistle again.

“Okay, boys, that's enough for today. Hit the showers.” He pauses, pointing at Liam and Samuels. “Except you two. Five laps around the bleachers.”

“Yes, sir,” they both say. Liam matches his pace to Samuels and keeps his hands curled into tight fists as he runs, so no one can see the eight bloody crescent moons puncturing his palms.

-

Samuels doesn't say a word to him the entire time it takes to jog five laps around the bleachers, and Liam's calves are burning by the time he's on the last one. The adrenaline that's been coursing through his veins all practice is finally starting to wear off, leaving him bone-tired, but more settled than he's been all day. He pauses at the bottom of the bleachers, reaching for his water bottle and giving Samuels a head start to the locker room.

That's when the smell hits him, and he freezes.

It's not until cold water runs over his hand that Liam realizes that he's crushed his water bottle. He takes a steadying breath, pushing himself to _think_. The smell is sharp in his nose, makes the hair on the back of his neck stand on end, but he can't place it. Doesn't understand the tight feeling in his gut, telling him to run.

Slowly, Liam unsticks his feet from the grass and shuffles forward a few cautious steps. Taking the time to toss the ruined water bottle into a nearby metal trashcan, Liam shakes himself before rounding the bottom of bleachers, following Samuels to the locker room. The heat's getting to him. That's all it is. He just needs a cold shower, to wash away the sweat and grime from practice, to get his head on straight again.

He doesn't make it more than another step or two before a figure detaches from the shadows beneath the bleachers, stepping into the light. Liam's nostrils flare as he sucks in a sharp breath through his nose. The smell claws at him, thick in his throat, and it's obviously coming from the boy who's put himself directly in Liam's way.

The boy smiles, friendly and open. It's at odds with the deliberate way he's blocked Liam from following Samuels. “You're Payne, aren't you? Liam Payne.”

It takes Liam a moment to place the boy's face. “Styles,” he realizes. West Dillon's star player, and this year's captain, if the rumors are to be believed. “Little far from your territory, aren't you?”

That makes Styles laugh, tossing his head back and baring his throat. The reaction throws Liam; it's an unexpected feeling, like they've rehearsed this scene a thousand times before, but Styles has suddenly missed his cue. He hasn't exchanged more than ten words with the kid in his life, and half of them were 'good game.' Liam is missing something here, and it sets his teeth on edge.

“I suppose I am,” Styles agrees, thumbs jammed into his pockets and his shoulders slumped beneath his white t-shirt. Every line of his body is casual, but there's something intentional about it that Liam doesn't trust. Head cocked to the side, Styles watches Liam for a long moment, like he's waiting for something.

“Why are you here?” Liam asks when the silence has dragged on too long. His own shirt is damp with sweat, sticking uncomfortably to his skin, and his throat is dry since his water bottle met an untimely death. Styles couldn't have picked a worse time to start a conversation.

He keeps smiling serenely, seemingly unbothered by Liam's sharp tone. “I think you know.”

“If I knew, I wouldn't have _asked_ ,” Liam says, grinding the words out between clenched teeth. It takes a conscious effort to uncurl his fingers from the fists they've formed. His palms have taken enough of a beating today. “Listen, alright, this has been a great chat, but the last person I wanna see after practice is a Panther. So if you don't mind fucking off, I'm going to go take a shower.” He sucks in another breath through his nose, and adds meanly, “Might suggest the same for you.”

Without waiting for a response, he stalks towards Styles, their shoulders bumping when Styles refuses to step out of the way. “Watch it,” Liam snaps, his patience worn beyond its breaking point.

“Liam,” Styles says, and it's – his voice is measured, calm, but there's something steely in it that makes Liam slow to a halt. He half turns, looking back at Styles, who meets his gaze head on. The easy smile is gone now, replaced with an intense look that Liam can't read.

“I think we need to talk.”

Liam hesitates. His gut is still screaming for him to run, but he can't tell if he should be running away from – or towards – Styles. He can't _think_ , with Styles' strange smell clogging his senses, with the ever-present anger still simmering beneath the surface, waiting for an excuse to boil over.

“I need a shower,” Liam says at last. He doesn't miss the way Styles tenses at the words. “But if you're still out here when I'm done, then sure. We can talk.”

Styles nods. “Fair enough.”

Nodding back, Liam turns towards the locker room, keeping his gait steady. He feels Styles' gaze on him the entire time.

-

The blast of cold water is a shock to his senses, and Liam feels nearly human again by the time he towels off, his skin pruney but his muscles no longer aching. He dresses slowly, pulling an old, faded shirt over his head, stepping carefully into his jeans, sitting on the bench to methodically lace up his boots. The rest of the team, Samuels included, has cleared out, so he's got the locker room to himself. There's a text from Niall, a simple _food later?_ , but he ignores it, slipping his phone into his pocket.

When Liam steps back outside into the glaring Texas sun, he doesn't even need to glance towards the bleachers where Styles has sprawled out to know that he's stuck around. The smell is just as strong as it was before, but at least now that Liam's expecting it, it doesn't catch him off guard.

He retraces his earlier footsteps, circling back around the bleachers. Styles has his elbows resting on the bench behind him and his heels of his boots propped up on the one in front, and he doesn't move as Liam settles himself a few feet away, hunching in on himself.

“Good practice?” Styles asks when Liam doesn't say anything. He's got a pair of sunglasses perched on his nose so Liam can't see his eyes, but the easy smile is back, dimpling his cheeks.

“Really not interested in small talk,” Liam tells him. “Get to the point, or I'm leaving.”

“Short fuse,” is Styles' only comment to that, but he finally sits up, brushing his long hair back from his face. He peers at Liam over the top of his shades. “That a recent development for you?”

He's terrifyingly on point, and Liam doesn't like it. “What are you, my shrink?”

Styles grins. “I'm going to go out on a limb and say that's a yes. Let me guess: your hearing has improved dramatically. Your sense of smell, too. You been running laps around everyone else at practice, hardly even get winded?”

The sudden fear chokes him. Styles _knows_. He knows Liam's secret, the one Liam doesn't even _understand_ , and he's just sitting there with a shark-toothed smile. Anger follows quickly on the heels of fear, and Liam sees red so fast his head spins.

“Liam.” It's the same direct tone Styles used before, and it pulls Liam back to himself. “Liam, look at me. Breathe.”

Liam follows the command instinctively, turning towards Styles and gulping in a lungful of air. He registers in a distant sort of way that his hands hurt, and when he glances down, there are twin dents in the metal bench that match the span of his fingers. He uncurls them immediately, but the damage is already done.

“You know what's happening to me,” Liam says. His voice shakes. “Tell me what's happening.”

“I don't know if I can.” Liam snaps his gaze back up to Styles, who's giving him that same intense look as before. “It's – it's going to be hard, for you to wrap your head around.”

Liam holds his gaze. “Try me.”

Styles searches his eyes for a long moment, and whatever he sees there must satisfy him, because he nods. “Okay. I'm going to be blunt. Liam, you're a lycanthrope.”

That throws him. “A like-en-what?”

Styles sighs. Slipping his sunglasses off, he hooks them on the collar of his shirt. “It means werewolf.”

“I'm not a werewolf,” Liam protests immediately. He's been the punchline of pranks before, back when he was a kid who hadn't grown into his own yet. It's been a while, but Liam remembers how this goes. He remembers the sick feeling of shame that coils in his gut and heats his face, the way he feels so small, but not small enough to hide from it. This is more elaborate, of course, but the end result is the same.

Except for the red pricking at the edge of his vision that he can't seem to shake.

“ _Liam_. Listen to me. I'm telling you the truth. It's hard to accept, I know.” Styles keeps talking to him in that calm, steady voice, and slowly Liam comes back to himself, his trembling hands clammy with sweat. “You've already admitted that things aren't normal, and I'm telling you, this is why.”

“No,” Liam says, shaking his head. “That's – werewolves aren't _real_. How would I even--” he cuts himself off, eyes going wide.

“I suspect you were bitten,” Styles says, watching him carefully. “Since you clearly weren't born.”

“I thought – but that was just a dream,” Liam argues. “It was just a bad dream.” He only remembers bit and pieces: the choking panic, the frantic beat of his heart, the slap of his soles against the pavement, all mish-mashed together like someone threw the whole thing into a blender. He can't forget the white hot pain, teeth digging into his side, or the warm blood dripping, but -

He woke up whole, intact. It wasn't real.

“I don't believe you,” Liam decides. “This is just – some stupid hazing tactic, or something.” He pushes himself to his feet, thundering down the bleaches.

“Liam, wait. Let me--”

“No,” Liam says. The red is back, and he needs to go. He needs to be somewhere where Styles' wild smell can't reach him, where he can lose control with no one watching. “Leave me alone. Whatever you have to say, I don't want to hear it.”

Styles calls for him again, but Liam isn't listening. He breaks into a jog, heading in the general direction of the parking lot, but his hands are shaking too badly to get the key in the ignition, let alone drive. Abandoning his truck, he veers back towards the locker room, ripping open the door and stepping into the dim interior.

It smells familiar, like old sweat and gym socks, and Liam gulps down air. Shucking his shirt and jeans, he heads back to the showers, turning the cold tap on full blast and stepping beneath the icy spray. He stands there until he stops shaking, and then stays there until he starts shaking again, this time with cold.

This time when Liam pokes his head out of the locker room, Styles isn't waiting for him. There's no wash of red threatening to take over, either, but Liam doesn't trust himself behind the wheel just yet. Instead, he taps out a hasty text to Niall.

_**Truck wont start. Come pick me uppp?** _

Then he sinks down on the bench, his head in his hands, and waits.

-

Niall pulls up twenty minutes later with Jade hanging out of the passenger side window of his jeep.

“I hear you're having car troubles,” she says sympathetically as she climbs out, and Liam winces.

“Yeah,” he lies, shoving his hands in his pockets. They've stopped shaking, but he’s starting to learn that doesn't really mean anything. “It's the damnedest thing. Kept trying the ignition, but it wouldn't catch.” There was a reason he didn't text Jade for a ride. Niall would have picked him up, no fuss, but Jade won't leave this parking lot until she's got Liam's truck working again. It wouldn't be such a problem if it were actually broken in the first place.

She makes grabby hands for Liam's keys, and he hands them over with reluctance, resigned to his fate. Swinging herself into the driver's seat, Jade slips the key into the ignition. The truck roars to life immediately.

“Huh,” Liam says, while Jade shoots him an unimpressed look over the steering wheel. “Must be one of those things, where it doesn't work until you get it looked at.”

Niall snorts. “Jade's not exactly a mechanic, bro.”

“And Niall's completely useless,” Jade says, voice sickly sweet. “But in this case he's right. Your truck's fine.”

“Great, thank you, I owe you big time,” Liam says, but of course they don't let him off the hook that easy.

Exchanging a glance with Jade, Niall starts, “You've been acting weird all week, Payno. Something's up with you.”

“I'm fine. Just, like.” Liam licks his lips, swallows. “It's more pressure than I thought, being captain. That's all.”

Jade hops out of the cab of Liam's truck, hanging off the open door. “I don't think that's all. Niall told me about practice today. Said you got into it with Andy, almost punched him. He's a dick, we all know that, but that isn't like you, Liam.”

“And what have you been up to for the past hour, huh?” Niall crosses his arms over his chest. “You don't expect us to believe you were just hanging out with your perfectly functioning truck.”

Stepping closer, Jade peers up at Liam's face, her eyebrows drawn up in concern. “Are you okay, Liam? You didn't _actually_ punch Andy, did you?”

Liam shakes his head. “No, I--” He swallows again. “I don't know what's going on. Maybe it's the heat.”

Neither Jade nor Niall look like they buy it. Liam rubs a hand over his face. “It's been a really strange day, okay? You wouldn't even believe me if I told you.”

“Try us,” Jade says, drawing herself up to her full height. The top of her head still barely reaches his chin.

Liam almost laughs, even though nothing is funny. “Fine. Can we get out of here first, though? I think this might take awhile.”

It must satisfy Jade, because she just says, “Whatever. Niall's driving.” She fishes Liam's keys from his truck before they all pile into Niall's jeep. With the windows rolled down, there's a bit of a breeze as Niall pulls out of the parking lot and the jeep starts to pick up speed. Liam sticks his face out the window and closes his eyes, letting the hot air wash over him.

They're halfway to Niall's when Liam's stomach growls loud enough to be heard over the music.

“You should have _said_ something,” Niall complains, but he's already flicking on his blinker, hanging a left to swing through the Taco Bell drive thru. He pulls up far enough that Liam can order from the backseat, since Jade called shotgun, and the only thing that keeps Liam from ordering the entire menu is the fact that he only has a ten in his wallet.

He’s inhaled his tacos by the time Niall parks in front of his house, but Niall doesn't seem to notice and Jade just says 'gross,' which is how she feels about most of Niall and Liam's habits, so that's alright.

Niall's dad is still at work, but they head to Niall's room out of habit, Jade settling herself on Niall's bed while Liam takes the desk chair, swiveling it around so he can rest his arms across the back, the rest of his lunch in hand. Niall collapses directly on the floor, face down, and mumbles something that might be, “I'm never moving again.”

“Liam,” Jade says conversationally, “are all your teammates such giant, crying babies?” One leg dangling off the edge of Niall's bed, she pokes her toes into his ribs. He flops one arm at her, like he's waving off an annoying mosquito.

“Pretty much,” Liam says honestly, pulling out a burrito. Niall squawks in protest, pushing up to his elbows.

“Okay, just because the rest of us didn't spend all summer long _jogging_ and _lifting weights_ , doesn't mean – would you quit it, Jade, that _tickles_ ,” he complains, pushing more forcibly at Jade's leg. A satisfied smile tugging at her lips, Jade crosses her legs, blinking innocently.

“Anyway,” Niall continues, melting back into the floor. “Liam's out there making the rest of us look bad. I get it, bro, you're captain and all, but would it kill you to act like you can't run laps around the rest of us?”

Chin dipped down, Liam studies his hands, watching his fingers clench and unclench around his burrito. His nails are blunt, trimmed down too far to do any sort of damage. There aren't any marks on his palms, but there's a bit of dried blood under the nail of his pinky, despite his two showers. Liam's head hurts. He's suddenly not hungry, and he slips the burrito back into the to-go bag.

“Do you think, like,” he starts. “Could rabies, or something, increase your adrenaline?”

His question is met with silence, and when Liam looks up, there are two sets of wide eyes staring at him. “What? It's just – nevermind, alright, forget I asked.”

“No, no, hold up. You don't get to go changing the subject on us again,” Niall says. “Are you – was that like, a rhetorical question, or are you trying to say you think you've somehow contracted rabies?”

“Um,” Liam says. His fingers twitch, and he fights the urge to touch his lower back, just to reassure himself. There's nothing there. He _knows_ that.

“Is this what you were talking about before?” Jade asks. “You think you've contracted some weird disease?”

“No!” Liam protests. Then he winces. “Maybe? I don't know. Things have been weird, right, ever since I had this dream about – well, it's not important. I've just been off, ever since, and then today after practice, Harry Styles was there--”

Jade sits up straight at that, and even Niall picks his head off the floor. “Harry Styles?”

“Yeah, he, like, ambushed me after Samuels left. Was talking kinda crazy. Said all the weird stuff happening to me was because I was a werewolf? Pretty shitty prank, if you ask me.” Liam laughs, and he doesn't need heightened hearing to know that it sounds forced. Both Jade and Niall are staring at him, mouths gaping.

Jade's the first to find her voice, flat and disbelieving. “Harry Styles showed up after practice.”

“To accuse you of lycanthropy?” Niall finishes, eyebrows climbing halfway up his forehead.

“What _is_ that word? I don't – look, I said you guys weren't gonna believe me. I told you, it was really weird. Just, forget I even said--”

“No, hold up, we didn't say we don't believe you.” Scrambling to the edge of the bed, Jade reaches out to grab Liam's arm, squeezing his wrist. “That Styles kid is really odd. If you say he showed up talking shit, then of course we believe you.”

“Yeah,” Niall agrees, shifting to rest his weight on his elbows again. “Weird fucking thing for him to say, but it would explain your new abilities.”

Liam chokes. “ _What_?”

Rolling over onto his back, Niall holds his hands up to start ticking off on his fingers. “You're super fast, hardly ever get out of breath at practice – though those might be related to the amount of protein shakes you drink, jury's still out – but you _did_ know when I had strawberry jam on my toast that one morning instead of grape--”

“Because you had strawberry jam _on your face_!”

“I'm just saying, Liam. The facts add up. I might need to make a spreadsheet.” Peering at him upside down, Niall grins brightly, waggling his eyebrows. “Felt the urge to howl at the full moon lately?”

Grabbing a pillow from Niall's bed, Liam throws it at his face. “Oh, fuck off. It wasn't funny when Styles said it, and it's not funny now.”

With a loud cackle, Niall swats the pillow away. “I think it's _hilarious_. Better than your wormhole theory, even!”

“That was your theory,” Liam mutters, but Niall's still laughing too loud to hear him. He sputters a moment later when Jade hits him with a second pillow, and Liam doesn't even feel bad about it.

-

There's enough of a lull after the dinner rush at work later that week that Liam's able to slip into the back to down half a soda and check his phone. He's got a few texts from Jade and Niall, and a missed call from his mom. She's probably also responsible for the voicemail, but he doesn't have time to listen before his manager calls him back to the front to take someone's order. Slipping his paper hat back into place, Liam slides a smile onto his face as he approaches the counter.

It slides right back off when he realizes who's standing there.

“Why are you here?” he hisses. He can smell Styles now that he's up close, over the stench of grease from the fryers that must've masked it before.

Styles smiles his easy grin. “Liam! I had no idea, whatsoever, that you worked here. What a complete surprise.”

“I'll bet,” Liam mutters. “What do you want, then? I'm assuming you'll be getting your order to go, unless you're looking to start something.”

Half the tables are crowded with East Dillon Lions, and most of them are staring openly at Styles. Samuels' lip has healed, but he's got a mean glint in his eye that says he wouldn't have a problem busting it open again, if it meant he got to bloody his knuckles in the process. Nobody ever accused their rivalry of being too friendly.

Styles doesn't look concerned. “Oh, I don't know about that. Hate when my fries go cold, you know? They get all soggy. Rather eat 'em fresh.”

Liam stares at him. “You're insane.”

“Just hungry,” Styles says, and actually winks. “But, hey, listen, if you really want me to go, I'd be happy to.”

“Really.”

“Yeah,” Styles grins. “As long as you agree to talk to me after you get off. You can pick anywhere you like, and I'll meet you there.”

“Okay. I pick nowhere. Can I take your order? We have a special today. Get one bacon cheeseburger, get the second one half-off.”

The smile finally dims, and Styles eyebrows wrinkle in annoyance. “Liam. I don't want a bacon cheeseburger. I need to _talk to you_.” His voice drops to a low, urgent murmur. “Tomorrow's the full moon, bro. I know you don't believe me right now, but you will. This is important.”

Liam punches the buttons on the register with more force than is strictly necessary. “Two bacon cheeseburgers, got it. Would you like fries with that? For another dollar, you can upgrade to the basket and get a medium drink.”

For some reason, that makes Styles' lips quirk in amusement. “You're a stubborn one, aren't you? Fine. We'll do this your way. Give me the basket.”

Liam's careful not to let their hands brush when he gives Styles his change, and Styles in turn stuffs it all in the tip jar next to the register. He props one shoulder against the wall next to the drink machine to wait for his order, his gaze never flinching from Liam.

Liam does his best to ignore him, but he can feel Styles' eyes on him; can't ignore his wild scent, even with the odor of frying food thick in his nose.

When he slides Styles' order over the counter in a to-go bag, Styles just smiles. “See you soon,” he says, but he heads out the door without a fuss. Liam's distracted the rest of his shift, messing up enough orders that his manager finally says, “It's not busy, Payne. Why don't you head home early tonight?”

Face flushing, Liam rips off his hat, tugging his apron over his head and hanging it on one of the hooks by the backdoor. He slips his phone into his pocket before heading out the door, keys jingling in his hand.

When he reaches his truck, Styles is leaning against the hood, sipping at his soda.

Liam wants to break something.

“Why can't you take a _fucking hint_ ,” he snarls. He's gone nearly a whole day without seeing red, has learned how to exhaust himself so that he's got no energy left to lose control, but Styles is testing his flimsy grip on his composure.

“You can't scare me off, Liam. I don't give up that easy.”

“Look, I'm tired, okay? I just want to go home and go to bed. That's all.”

He reaches for the door handle, and Styles pushes himself off the hood of the truck, stepping closer to Liam. “It's not going to work. Wearing yourself down like this, it isn't going to work. I can help you, Liam. Let me help you.”

“Help me?” Liam can't help the disbelieving laugh that escapes. “All you've done so far is show up and annoy me. You're making it worse.”

Styles' jaw clenches at that, the muscle twitching beneath his skin. “Because you don't believe me. I get it, okay, you haven't shifted yet, so you don't – you don't _get_ it, but I can't – Liam, I can't leave you on your own tomorrow night.”

There's something in Styles' voice that eats at him, leaves him feeling defeated instead of angry. Liam sighs. “I told you. I don't want your help. What are you gonna do, just show up at my house uninvited?”

Green eyes glinting like steel, Styles says, “If that's what it takes.” He takes a step back when Liam opens the door and climbs into the truck, slamming it shut behind him. His gaze is burning as Liam starts the truck, and Liam knows that driving away now won't make any difference. Styles isn't giving up.

It feels good all the same, leaving him behind in a cloud of dust.

-

Liam wakes up restless, the sheets twisted around him, completely shredded where he tried to claw his way free in his sleep. He strips his bed, taking the bundle of ruined bedding straight to the trash, and has to unearth an old set of Toy Story themed sheets from the linen closet down the hall to replace them.

He pours everything he's got into practice, until sweat stings his eyes and his lungs burn, but it's not enough. Neither is the ten mile jog he takes afterward, or the pull-ups he does until his arms are trembling too badly to keep going.

It's like a fever is eating away his veins, lighting him on fire from the inside out.

He gulps down a bottle of water, then paces around his room before chugging a second one. That doesn't help either. Nothing does.

The setting sun blazes a brilliant orange, hanging low in the sky, and that's when Liam's mom calls up the stairs, “Liam! You've got a visitor.”

“I'm not feeling well,” Liam hollers back. He can't take Jade's judgmental eyes, or Niall's knowing looks right now. Not when he's barely holding on.

There's a murmured conversation downstairs – the sort of thing Liam would normally be able to hear, ever since The Incident – but he can't make out any words over the roar of blood in his ears. He's so focused on keeping himself from falling apart that he doesn't notice until it's too late, and the doorknob is already turning.

The door swings open, and for once in his life, Styles isn't smirking. He hovers in Liam's bedroom doorway, watching Liam with his intense eyes. “You don't look so hot.”

“Really?” Liam manages. “Because I feel like I'm on fire.”

“I know,” Styles says, and it doesn't make sense, none of it does. “Come with me, Liam.”

Liam hesitates. “What'd you say to my mom?”

Styles holds his gaze when he says, “That we had a scrimmage today and you seemed off, and I wanted to check on you, captain to captain. Building inter-team unity and all that.”

He can feel the way his mouth drops open. “You lied. To my _mother_.”

“Lie is an ugly word. I fibbed. Anyway,” Styles continues, “You're clearly not doing alright. Come with me, just for tonight. If you want me to leave you alone after, I will. You have my word.”

Styles hasn't stepped over the threshold into Liam's room, and it's that small kindness – the respect of Liam's space, or maybe the illusion that Liam still has a choice in the matter, though by now it's obvious he can't manage whatever's happening to him on his own – that finally crumbles Liam's resolve.

“Fine,” he says. He doesn't miss the relieved expression that crosses Styles' face.

-

Styles spins some bullshit about “taking Liam out for some fresh air, I promise no hazing tactics and I'll have him back by curfew, don't you worry Mrs. Payne,” and normally Liam would take offense at the way he follows that up with a wink, but it's hard enough focusing on keeping himself together. It charms his mom, at any rate, which is probably the only reason she lets him leave the house with West Dillon's team captain without interrogating him first.

They climb into Styles' truck, the engine roaring to life with a plume of exhaust. It makes Liam nauseous, and he rests his warm forehead against the passenger side window, the glass cool against his heated skin.

“It gets better,” Styles says out of nowhere. Liam turns to look at him, and Styles catches his eye for a moment before focusing on the road again. “The first change is the hardest, but you'll get used to it, I promise.”

“You make a lot of promises,” Liam observes. “Not sure I believe you, bro.”

Styles grins. “Give it an hour or so. See if you don't change your mind about that.”

Liam's got no idea where Styles is taking them. No idea why Styles has crashed into Liam's life, and refused to leave. He's tired of the emotions he can't keep under control, of having to constantly cover things up, of the unanswered questions that won't stop plaguing him.

“Why me?” Liam asks, breaking the silence that's fallen over them. “Why'd you pick me?”

A muscle in Styles' jaw twitches, and his fingers tighten on the steering wheel before he relaxes them again. “It wasn't like that, Liam.”

Liam snorts. “I don't see you bothering anyone else.”

For once, Styles doesn't have a snappy reply. The silence stretches longer this time as the tires eat up pavement, the headlights on Styles' truck cutting through the steadily falling dusk. Liam's about to ask where Styles is taking them when he flips on his blinker, turning down a gravel driveway a moment later. They drive past a rusted metal gate that's been left open, following the twisting drive until Styles finally pulls to a stop in the middle of the countryside.

It's probably a little late to ask, but. “Are you sure you're not a serial killer?”

Styles laughs, a sharp, bright burst. “No, Liam. I'm not a serial killer. You're not very trusting, are you?” He doesn't wait for a response, turning off the ignition and opening the door. “C'mon. Come with me.” Slipping out of the truck, he leaves Liam with no choice but to follow.

“Where are we going?” he calls after Styles, slamming the door of the truck shut behind him. Night is quickly approaching as the last of the sunlight bleeds away, but Liam doesn't have any trouble picking out Styles' shifting silhouette, despite the play of shadows. He could follow him even with his eyes shut, Styles' distinctive scent like a beacon. Frowning, Liam keeps his eyes open, picking his way through the brush after him.

“Hey! I'm serious. Where are you – _ohh_.” Liam stumbles when the fever burning inside of him flares into a white hot flash of pain, his nerves on fire. It's gone in an instant, leaving an echo of phantom pain in its wake. “What the hell,” Liam manages to gasp.

Styles resurfaces from behind some shrubbery, his face pinched with concern. Placing a hand on Liam's shoulder, he says, “Remember how I said it gets better? I meant that. The bad news is that right now, it's probably gonna be really bad.”

“What's gonna be really ba-- oh, god.” This time, the flash of pain brings Liam to his knees. Styles drops down too, both his hands rubbing up and down Liam's arms.

“Hey, hey, it's alright. Just breathe, okay. Breathe through it.”

Focusing on Styles' soothing tone, Liam struggles to breathe, gasping in lungfuls of air. Dusk has given away completely to the dark, but under the pale light of the full moon, Styles’ brow is wrinkled with concern.

“I need you to trust me, Liam. Okay? Trust me.”

Even in the moonlight, Styles' eyes are intense, but the color is wrong. Liam blinks, but they still look more yellow than green. He wants to believe Styles, because he's got nothing else. Another shock of pain rips through him, and he grits his teeth against a groan. “What's happening to me?”

“Don't fight it. Let it happen.”

He's about to ask what that even means, when Styles' own face twists in discomfort. “I can't – I can't fight it either. Trust me, Liam.” Shuddering, Styles tugs his t-shirt over his head, throwing it to the ground. He scrambles for his jeans next, pushing them off along with his boxers, until he's sitting naked in wooded countryside.

“What--” Liam gasps, and another wave of pain rolls over him, this one bad enough to make spots dance in front of his vision. It feels like his bones are trying to turn inside out, ripping him apart. The spots cloud his vision, until it's a solid wall of black.

-

Liam cracks his eyes open, shutting them almost immediately when too-bright light pricks at him. He groans, rolling over to hide his face in his pillow, and abruptly realizes several hard truths.

There is no pillow to hide his face in, because Liam is, apparently, in the wilderness, grass tickling his cheek and a light breeze ghosting over his skin. Liam is also extremely naked.

He sits up with a lurch, grabbing at his temple when his head spins. He feels almost hungover, nausea clawing at the back of his throat and disoriented thoughts tripping over themselves in his head. There's a very good chance that he is going to throw up in the next thirty seconds.

A quiet groan next to him has Liam glancing down, and then his head is really spinning. It's Harry, passed out on his stomach, mouth open in a snore. He's as naked as Liam is, his wild curls hopelessly tangled, a smudge of dirt across one cheekbone. Without thinking, Liam reaches out to scrub it away with his thumb.

Harry's eyelids flutter, and then he's peering up at Liam with slitted eyes, mouth curling into a slow grin.

“Liam,” he says, voice huskier than Liam's ever heard it. “You made it.”

“What,” Liam rasps. He swallows, throat dry. “What happened last night?”

“Mmm,” Harry hums. “Do I really need to answer that?”

“I--” The memories trickle back, and it's like Liam's watching them play out on a movie screen, something separate from himself. Running, as fast as he could, too panicked to pay attention to where he was going, blindly following instinct. Too many smells, too many noises. Just terror.

The familiar scent that cut through the rest, the one that pulled him up short. Harry, nuzzling against him, his tongue licking Liam's snout, settling Liam's nerves.

Liam blanches. That's not right. It can't be.

“Don't fight it,” Harry says, watching Liam with his intense green eyes. Green, not yellow. “Trust me, Liam. It's real, alright? I promise you, it's real.”

This time, the nausea doesn't get stuck in Liam's throat. He rolls over just in time to throw up, retching until there's nothing left. Harry's touch is tentative at first, fingers resting lightly on Liam's back, but he gradually increases the pressure, tracing his hand up and down Liam's spine. Once Liam's stomach is empty, he sits up, wiping his mouth with the back of his wrist. Harry lets his hand drop.

“You okay?” he asks, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth.

“I don't know,” Liam says truthfully. “I think – I want to go home.”

“Sure.” Pushing to his feet, Harry offers Liam a hand. Liam averts his gaze, looking down at the scraggly grass beneath his feet instead of the naked expanse of Harry's skin. His face feels warm as he takes the offered hand, lets Harry pull him up.

“You, uh. Wouldn't happen to know where we left our clothes, would you?”

A wry smile pulls at Harry's mouth. “Yours are probably shredded to pieces. I would have warned you, if I didn't think you'd freak out at me telling you to strip off. S'alright, though. I've got some extra clothes in my truck.”

When Liam doesn't immediately respond, Harry pokes him in the side. “Hey, now. What's the frown about? You'll get used to the whole nudity thing, I swear. Anyway, it's not like you've got anything to be embarrassed about.” He waggles his eyebrows, and it just makes Liam's cheeks flame redder.

“I-- that's not-- Christ, Harry. Believe it or not, traipsing naked through the woods with you is not my idea of a good time!”

Liam's not sure what he's expecting – for Harry to pout, maybe, or to snap back at him. Instead, Harry's smile softens.

“You called me Harry,” he says.

Liam lets out a heavy breath. “That's your name, isn't it?”

“Suppose it is,” is Harry's only reply. The little smile doesn't fade their entire trek back to the truck, even when they stop a few dozen feet away to gather up the clothes that Harry threw into the woods. He offers Liam his jeans, and respectfully looks away when Liam pulls them on, the worn denim soft against his skin. Harry tugs on his boxers, but wrinkles his nose when he locates his shirt. It's damp and streaked with mud from where it landed in a creek bed.

Half-dressed, they pick their way through the overgrown grass until they reach Harry's truck. He tosses the ruined shirt into the back and surfaces with a duffle bag, pulling out two clean shirts, and another pair of jeans.

“You've put a lot of thought into this,” Liam says once he's wrestled the shirt over his head. It smells like laundry detergent and the lingering, almost wild scent he's come to associate with Harry.

Harry's teeth flash in a grin. “It's not exactly my first rodeo, Liam.”

Liam freezes, one arm shoved successfully through his sleeve and the other still twisted up in fabric. “The full moon,” he says. “Is this – this--” he can't make himself say the word out loud. “Does it happen every time?”

Shuffling closer, Harry reaches for the hem of Liam's shirt, tugging until Liam's arm slots through. “Yeah. Yeah, it does. But it's alright, Liam, I promise. I'm going to keep helping you, okay?”

The panic comes back, clawing at Liam's throat, choking him. “I don't want your help, Harry. I don't want – any of this.”

“Liam.” It's that same sharp voice he used before, after practice, the one that makes something heavy settle in Liam's gut.

“No,” Liam growls, fighting against it. He pushes Harry's hands away, takes a step back, putting space between them. “Don't you dare – don't use that _voice_ on me.”

“I'm not—I'm trying to _help_ you, Liam. There's so much you don't understand.” For the first time, frustration colors Harry's tone, his patience finally slipping. Liam feels a flare of triumph.

“Are you a man of your word, Styles?”

Harry's nostrils flare as he sucks in a sharp breath through his nose. “Yes,” he says, biting out the word.

“I said I'd come with you, just for the night. I kept up my end. Now I want you to leave me alone.”

Harry takes a step forward like he can't help himself before pulling up short, shoving a hand through his tangled hair to push it off his forehead. “You don't know the first thing about being a wolf, Liam. You can't just – this isn't something you can just wing! You need me, okay, and--”

“Why?” Liam interrupts. “Why are you so insistent on helping me? You don't even know me. How did you even--” he cuts himself off when it clicks. “You're the one who bit me.”

A pained expression twists Harry's face, and he clears his throat. “No, Liam. It wasn't me.”

Liam crosses his arms over his chest. “Then who did, Harry? You're the only – there's only you.”

Harry shakes his head. “The only one stupid enough to try to befriend a stubborn idiot like you, maybe, but I'm far from the only wolf, Liam. I'm just trying to look out for you.”

Somehow, that thought hadn't occurred to Liam before now. “There are – there are more of you?”

“Of _us_ ,” Harry corrects. “And yeah, Liam. A lot more.”

“And you all just, what, exactly? Run around biting people on the full moon, increasing your numbers?”

“Of course not!” Harry drags his hand over his face, breathing deep. “I swear, it's like you're trying to antagonize me.”

“Oh, that's real rich, coming from y--”

“ _Listen_ to me, Liam. A green wolf like you is more likely to be out of control, to bite someone. I don't want that to happen. I just want to help. There's so much you don't – the consequences a wolf faces, if they bite someone, it's – god, Liam, we take it seriously as killing someone, alright? What happened to you, being bit against your will – it's a huge deal. It's unforgivable. There's nothing I can do, to undo it. But I can try to help you. I can set things right.”

Liam tries to hold Harry's gaze, but it’s too much, all of a sudden, and he drops his eyes, looking to the side. “Then give me a ride home,” he says at last, voice quiet. “And after that, leave me be.”

There's a beat of silence before Harry finally answers. “Fine. If that’s what you really want.”

They spend the ride to Liam's house in heavy silence, Liam's forehead pressed against the passenger door window, eyes unfocused as he watches the blur of Texas countryside flash by.

 

* * *

 

**[part two: regular season]**

By the time the warning bell rings for Liam's first class, his head is already pounding. There are too many smells, too many sounds, and it leaves him feeling strung out, his nerves on edge.

“What's up with you?” Jade asks after Liam flinches noticeably when she slams her locker shut. “Your rabies acting up?”

Liam closes his eyes. It just makes the never-ending deluge of smells even more intense, but he's under enough scrutiny without pinching his nose in the middle of the hallway like a freak. “I don't have rabies,” he says.

“First day nerves?” Jade suggests, sounding marginally more sympathetic.

It's a handy excuse, and one Liam hasn't used already. He latches on immediately. “Yeah,” he says. “Yeah, it's uh – I have Physics first period and I'm pretty sure I'm going to fail. You know I'm crap with numbers.”

“Letters, too,” Jade says, slipping her arm through Liam's. “But that's alright. I have AP Physics third period so I'll help you pass, okay? And in return, all I ask is that you stuff Niall into a locker.”

“That's a fair deal,” Liam agrees. Jade smells like fancy flowers and hairspray, and Liam breathes deep, letting the familiarity of it wash over him. It doesn't quite block out the rest, but it's settling, somehow.

He tries not to think about it.

Jade walks with him most of the way to class, rolling her eyes when they have to squeeze past a troupe of cheerleaders practicing for Friday's game in the middle of the hallway.

“They already get priority scheduling over girls’ volleyball,” she mutters, clearly gearing up for her anti-cheerleaders rant. “Like, isn't it enough they make the volleyball team wait for an hour after school before they get to use the gym? Do they really have to block the hallway with their _skirts_ and their _legs_ before school too--”

“Jade,” Liam gently reminds her. “You're not on the volleyball team.”

With a huff, Jade says, “It's the _principle_ of the thing, Liam.” She turns towards her own class before suddenly pivoting on her heel. “Oh, I almost forgot to ask. Niall said he wants to get dinner after practice tonight. You in?”

Liam shakes his head. “Still grounded. Rain check? I think my parents will let me go out Friday after the game.”

Jade gives him a look. “I still don't understand how exactly you got ground--”

“Oh, shit, I'm about to be late,” Liam interrupts. “Sorry, catch you later!” He jogs off before Jade can finish asking the question he's been ignoring all week.

-

It's a cruel twist of fate that the first game of the season is against West Dillon.

Liam hasn't spoken to Harry since the morning they woke up in the woods, and the way his scent washes over Liam when the Panthers climb off their bus has him reeling with dizziness. Liam wants to sink his teeth into Harry's skin until he tastes blood. Or maybe roll onto his back, belly up, and let Harry do the biting. Shaking himself, he bites down on his mouth guard instead. He flexes his fingers, concentrating on his warm-ups, the way his cleats pierce the dirt beneath his feet with every step.

It's harder to block out the roar of the crowd now than it was last season, since Liam can take the time to pick out each individual voice if he wants, hear every word. He tries to drown it out, focusing to the thud of his heart against his rib cage, the roar of blood in his ears. There's no red at the edge of his vision, but Liam recognizes the signs. He's going to have to be on his toes tonight.

As the players take the field, Liam walks to the center yard line for the coin toss and meets Harry's gaze head on. His eyes are bright in the stadium lights, his uniform a crisp blue, and his scent is nearly overpowering. Liam's fingers curl into fists.

“Alright gentleman, shake hands, introduce yourselves please,” the ref instructs. Harry offers his hand and Liam shakes it, too quick and too firm to be called polite.

“Home team calls the toss,” the ref says. “We have heads, we have tails, what are you gonna call, son?”

“Heads,” Liam barks out, and the ref flips the coin, light glancing of its metal surface as it spins.

When it lands, he holds it out for inspection. Tails.

Harry's teeth gleam. “We'll take the ball. Offense.”

The Panthers play hard, but Liam's Lions give it right back. They leave their complaints on the sidelines and pour their hearts into every play. Liam would be proud, if he weren't busy fighting the wash of red at the edge of his vision with every fiber of his body. Something about the adrenaline of the game gets twisted up inside of him, until the only thing he can focus on is Harry's scent, the taut line of his shoulders, the way he won't stop staring at Liam, a challenge in his eyes.

Liam's breathing harder than he ever did in practice, and it’s not long before Coach calls him over to the sidelines between plays.

“You alright, son? I need you to save something for the second half.”

“I'm fine,” Liam says, and it comes out almost a growl. He closes his eyes for a moment, grounding himself. “I'm fine,” he repeats, sounding more like himself. “I just want to win, Coach.”

Coach slaps him on the back. “Then get back out there.”

Liam jogs back onto the field, shoving his mouth guard between his teeth. He feels Harry's eyes on him the whole time, and it makes his skin itch. When he glances up, Harry doesn't look away. Liam bites down on the mouth guard and bares his teeth. For a single, dangerous second, Harry’s eyes flash gold and Liam can feel his hackles raise. Then the center snaps the ball to him and Liam loses himself in the play, red blurring the edge of his vision as he charges forward, pummeling everything in his path.

He comes back to himself when his back hits the field, hard enough to knock the air from his lungs. Harry’s on top of him, his knees digging into Liam’s ribs, and Liam nearly growls.

Spitting out his mouth guard, Harry barks, “Your _eyes_ , Liam. Pull it together or get off the field.”

“Get off me,” Liam snarls, fighting the grip Harry has on his wrists, pinning him to the grass. He can feel himself losing control, red spots dancing in front of his eyes, and he forces a deep breath of air into his lungs, his throat burning.

Harry releases him, sitting back on his heels. Liam scrambles up off his back into a crouch, putting himself at eye level with Harry. “Watch yourself,” Harry says, but it doesn’t sound like a threat. His eyes are a clear green as he studies Liam for a long moment before he finally pushes to his feet, jogging back to his teammates.

More slowly, Liam climbs to his own feet. On the next play, the center snaps the ball to him again, and this time Liam dances out of the way of the charging Panthers, letting the ball fly with an easy snap of his wrist. He doesn't wait to see if his receiver catches it before he drops his shoulder, gunning straight for Harry.

He winds up on his back again, head knocking into the dirt hard enough to hurt, even through his helmet.

“Had enough yet?” Harry says, something gloating in his tone, and Liam snaps. Growling low in his throat, he surges up, tackling Harry to the ground. It’s not until Harry makes a choked off little noise that Liam realizes his claws are out, digging into Harry’s skin deep enough to draw blood.

“Fuck,” he swears, jerking his hands back, but the damage is done. There are ten tiny tears in Harry’s jersey, all of them dotted red.

“You need to _control yourself_ ,” Harry hisses. His face is flushed, tendrils of hair sticking to his sweat-slick skin. “Christ, Liam, if someone sees you–”

“I–” Liam manages. He curls his fingers into fists, the crescent moons of his fingernails – nails, not claws, he’s clinging to control by the smallest of threads – biting into his palms. His hands are shaking. Harry can smell it on him, probably, the roiling mess of emotions, and his eyes soften with something like pity.

Liam staggers to his feet, brushing past Coach towards the bench. He fumbles with his water bottle, and it takes him three tries to get the cap off. Lifting it up, he dumps water over his face, swallowing what little bit lands in his mouth.

It doesn't go down easy.

Liam can't catch his breath, can't get enough air, and this time the dots that dance in front of his eyes are black, not red.

A heavy hand lands on his shoulder, and Liam blinks a few times, trying to focus his gaze on Coach's face. “I'm fine,” he wheezes, the words coming out strangled despite his best effort.

“I don't think you are, son,” Coach says, but not unkindly. “Do you need me to get a trainer over here?”

Liam shakes his head. “No, no, I just – I just need to sit for a minute. I'll be fine.”

At Coach's sharp nod, Liam sinks onto the bench, head in his hands and breathing hard.

“Hemmings,” Coach barks out. “You're in.”

Liam can't watch as Hemmings takes his place, can't block out the concerned whispers swirling all around him. He digs his fingers into his thighs, concentrating on the pain, trying to ground himself, to hold onto control with everything he's got left.

By halftime, the Panthers have edged into the lead. Coach gives the team a rousing pep talk, but Liam doesn't hear a word of it. The locker room should smell like home, should be familiar and grounding, but traces of Harry's scent linger, clinging to the skin and jerseys of Liam's players, choking him.

Liam walks back out onto the field for the second half of the game still breathing hard, and if it weren't for his enhanced werewolf abilities, or whatever the fuck has changed inside him since the bite, he thinks his heart might stop, it's been beating so hard for so long. The adrenaline makes his palms slick, and usually he can channel it, the noise of the crowd fading until there's just Liam and where he needs to put the ball.

He feels like a wild animal, though, back up against the wall, and he's concentrating so hard on maintaining control that he can't focus on anything else, can't complete a pass to save his life. After he throws an interception that the Panthers turn into a touchdown, Coach calls him over.

“Son, I need you to get your head in the game.”

Liam shakes his head, biting down hard on his mouth guard before spitting it out. “I'm sorry,” he says. “I can't – I don't--” Closing his eyes, he sucks in a lungful of air.

“Hemmings,” Coach barks. “Get back out there.”

It's not until Liam sinks back onto the bench that he realizes his legs are shaking. Coach doesn't put him back in, and Liam doesn't ask him to, even when the Lions fail to put any more points on the board. Liam doesn’t move for the rest of the game, ignoring the weight of Harry’s gaze from the visitors’ side, his breathing still rough and uneven.

After, he lingers in the showers until he’s the only one left, waiting out even Niall. Palm flat against the tile wall and head bowed, Liam watches the water run down the drain until his vision goes unfocused, his mind blank.

When he finally steps out of the field house, he isn’t surprised to see Harry’s lanky form leaning against the brick wall, clearly waiting for him. His scent’s not as sharp now that he’s washed off the sweat and adrenaline from the game, but it still burns Liam’s nose.

“Come to gloat?” Liam asks. The words come out steady. It's his first victory of the night.

“We're on the same team now, Liam,” Harry says. His hair is still wet from his post-game shower, hanging in damp tendrils long enough to brush the tops of his shoulders. “How can I get that through your thick skull?”

Liam chews on his bottom lip. “It's late,” he says eventually. “Is the bus waiting for you?”

Harry smiles at him lazily, half his face hidden in shadow. “Nah. I’ll find my own way back. Got something more important right now, don’t I?”

“You said you'd leave me alone,” Liam reminds him, but there isn't much fire behind it. He's too burnt out.

Pushing off the wall, Harry says, “That was before you nearly wolfed out on the field. Now, I'm not usually the type to say 'I told you so'--”

Liam snorts, and Harry grins wide enough for his cheeks to dimple. “But this is exactly what I was talking about. You need me, Liam. You need a pack.”

He steps right into Liam’s space, so close that he’s all Liam can smell. Liam doesn't move as Harry curls a hand over the back of Liam's neck, fingernails scratching at the short hairs at the base of his skull. Harry's gentle, like Liam's a wild animal that could spook at any moment. The thought makes his stomach turn over.

“Let me help you, Liam. Lone wolves – trust me when I tell you, it never ends well for lone wolves.”

“I don't even _know_ you,” Liam says, but he doesn't push Harry's hand away. He leans into the touch when Harry digs his thumb into his muscles, releasing the pent-up tension. “You just come waltzing into my life, expecting me to blindly trust you, and I--”

“You need a pack, Liam,” Harry repeats. His touch is as soft as his voice, and Liam –

Liam takes a step back.

Harry lets his hand fall.

“Look,” Liam says. “I don't – this whole wolf thing. I'm not cut out for this, Harry. I'm just trying to make it through high school without losing out on a football scholarship. I don't need a pack, or whatever. I just need things to be as normal as possible.”

Shaking his head, Harry says, “That's-- pack _is_ normal, for a wolf. I get that you don't trust me, okay. I probably wouldn't trust me either, if I was in your shoes.” He sighs. “But I can't let you do this on your own. You're just a pup, Liam.”

The words make Liam bristle. “I'm not a little kid.”

“That's not what I-- Liam, you've been a wolf for barely a month! Most of us spend our whole lives learning how to control our instincts, how to blend in with regular people. It's not just your life that's at stake, here.”

Liam starts. “There are _lives_ at stake?”

Unbelievably, Harry rolls his eyes. “ _Think_ , Liam! What do you think would happen if you shifted out on the field in front of everybody, huh?”

“I-- it's not the full moon. I wouldn't.”

“If you lose control – and you were close, Liam, don't pretend you weren't – you _will_ shift. You don't have to like me, but you need to trust me on this. I'm looking out for you. You need me.”

“And _you_ need a ride home,” Liam retorts, because he hates admitting that maybe Harry's right. Harry laughs, bright and loud, shattering the tension.

“Home is where the wolf is,” he says, which doesn’t even make sense. “Where’s your truck? It’s like, a twenty-minute drive back to my house. I can teach you a lot in twenty minutes.”

Liam's lips twitch, but he manages not to smile. “I didn't actually volunteer to give you a ride, you know.”

“I know,” Harry says, but his tone implies otherwise.

With a sigh, Liam reaches for his keys. “Let me text my mom to let her know I'll be late.” The last thing he needs is to get grounded again for being out all night with Harry.

-

Harry teaches him nothing in the twenty minute drive to his place, but somehow still manages to fill the air with rambling stories that seem to circle the point without ever really getting there. There's something oddly soothing in his slow drawl, which is the only reason Liam's anxiety doesn't peak as he drives through progressively fancier and fancier neighborhoods. It feels like an entirely different world, even though it's really only the other side of town.

“I thought you were supposed to be giving me wolf lessons,” Liam says when Harry interrupts himself to point out his driveway. The house at the end of it is big. Really big.

“If you were paying attention, Liam, you would have noticed that I've been teaching you the most important lesson of all,” Harry says.

Liam shoots him a look. “Never buy avocados in bulk?”

“The second most important lesson of all,” Harry amends. “This is a trust-building exercise, Liam. We're building trust. _That's_ the most important lesson.”

“Huh. And here I thought you were just passionate about organic produce.”

Harry's teeth gleam white. “Well, that too.”

Liam lets the truck coast to a stop in Harry's driveway, and leaves his foot on the brake while the engine idles. Harry's quiet for a moment, gripping the door handle, but he doesn't actually open the door.

“I meant what I said, Liam. You need my help, and you need a pack.”

“I need to get my team to state and to not to fuck up my football scholarship,” Liam says, addressing his knuckles. He hasn't taken his hands off the steering wheel. “This wolf thing doesn't really fit into my goals.”

Harry huffs a little. “This _wolf thing_ isn't going away, Liam.” The _and neither am I_ is left implied.

Liam swallows. “I don't want this. I can't – I can't _do_ this.”

“Not alone. But if you let me help you, we can--”

“No.” It comes out sharper than Liam meant, startling them both. “I don't want your help. I want--” to be the kind of captain that doesn't get benched half the game while his team takes a loss. To sleep through the night without nightmares tearing him apart. To feel normal again, and not take it for granted.

To hurt whoever did this to him.

Liam closes his eyes, bites his tongue until he tastes the coppery tang of blood. “I want to be left alone. You got a ride home out of me. I don't owe you anything else.”

“If you lose control--” Harry tries, but Liam cuts him off again.

“I'll handle it. Goodbye, Harry.”

For a moment, Harry doesn't move. The tension in the cab of Liam's truck is thick enough to choke on. With sudden, choppy movements, Harry finally unclips his seat belt and swings the door open, sliding out. He hesitates for a moment before shutting it.

“You know where to find me, Liam. I'll be right here, when you come around.”

Liam doesn't say anything, too busy gnawing on his bottom lip, and Harry sighs before slamming the door shut. He's only made it halfway to the front door before Liam's backing out, tires squealing as he slams his foot on the accelerator too hard.

He keeps a tight grip on the steering wheel the whole way home, but at least his hands don't shake.

-

It's not until after Liam's stumbled home that he realizes his phone is dead. He barely makes it in the house, let alone to his room where his charger is, before he’s stopped by his mom, her hands on her hips and the wrath of God in her eyes.

“Liam James Payne.”

Liam braces himself. Nothing good ever follows the use of his full name.

“Where have you _been_?”

“I was just – giving someone a ride home.” He carefully doesn't mention Harry by name. His mom hasn't exactly forgiven Harry for keeping Liam out all night, and Liam can't exactly explain the real reason behind it.

“After a game like that?” She sounds _livid_. “No call, no explanation, you just disappear to give someone a _ride home_? Your father and I have been worried sick! I have half a mind to ground you again until the lesson really sinks in.”

“Mom,” Liam tries. “I wasn't – look, it's not even past my curfew, and I texted you, didn't I? I've just, I've been a little under the weather, and I was, um, I was lightheaded--”

“Lightheaded?” his mom interrupts. “You shouldn't be driving, for goodness’ sake! Do you need to go to Urgent Care? How long have you been feeling this way?” She places the back of her hand against Liam's forehead, and he has to clench his fists to keep from pushing her away.

“Mom, I'm fine now. It was just – performance anxiety.” The second the lie occurs to him, he rolls with it. “You know, it's senior year and knowing that there are scouts watching my every move – I just, I didn't expect it to hit me so hard.” Hadn't had the chance to even worry about scouts, in all honesty, but it hits him now, how close he is to losing everything he's worked his whole life for. He takes a slow, deliberate breath. “I'll be more prepared next week. I just need to get my head on straight, okay?”

Lowering her hand, his mom studies him with a critical eye. She doesn't look impressed. “Straight to bed,” she tells him. “Get some rest. We can talk more in the morning, and you can explain to your father exactly what happened tonight.”

“Yes, ma'am.”

Liam obediently plods up the stairs to his room. Reaching for the charger, he plugs his phone in, and it only takes a moment before a string of text messages comes through. He winces as he reads them.

It's hard to say who's more angry with him, Niall or Jade. Liam wagers he'll have a better chance of not getting his ear chewed off if he calls Niall, and hits the call button before he can talk himself out of it.

Jade answers Niall's phone, and Liam has to bite back a curse.

“I swear to God, you better be dead in a ditch somewhere.”

“Is-- how would I be calling you, if I were dead in a ditch?”

Jade ignores him. “Niall told me about your little disappearing act. What, you think you can just blow off half the game and then go sulk without telling anyone what's going on, or where you've gone?”

“I didn't – hey, now. I didn't blow off the game.” He can hear Niall in the background, trying to talk Jade into handing the phone over. It sounds like a losing battle.

“What I would really like from you now is an apology and a damn good explanation, not an excuse,” Jade says, something fierce in her voice. “You had us worried sick, Liam!”

Guilt sinks like a stone in his gut. That makes everyone important in his life that he’s let down tonight. “Shit, Jade, I'm so sorry. I didn't even think – I was just giving Harry a ride home. He missed the bus.”

The silence on the other end of the line is incredibly loud. “Harry. As in, Harry Styles? Captain of the West Dillon football team Harry Styles?” The phone is only slightly muffled when she adds, “He gave Harry fucking Styles a ride home. No, I don't know why. Shut up, you watch too much X-Files.” Louder, she says, “Niall thinks you've been abducted by aliens and replaced with a clone. He's an idiot, so I'd love to hear your explanation.”

“It's not much better,” Liam mutters. “Look, I can't really talk now – my mom's, uh, not super happy with me either, but can we meet up tomorrow? I'd rather talk about it in person.”

“It had better be worth the wait,” Jade warns, and hangs up before Liam can say goodbye. He flops into bed face down, the mattress protesting with a loud groan, and a minute later his phone buzzes with a new text.

_**Glad you're not dead in a ditch. Ur still a dick tho** _

The message is from Niall's phone, but has Jade written all over it. Hiding a relieved smile in his pillow, Liam drops off to a dreamless sleep.

-

“Food poisoning,” Niall says flatly.

“Yep,” Liam says, rocking back on his heels. He had all night to think about it, and it's the best lie he could come up with. It explains most of his symptoms, anyway, and his dad bought it, rehashing every play from the game over breakfast until Liam wanted to scream. “Uh, I mean, I think so? Could've been a stomach bug, but I feel better today, so probably it was just food poisoning.”

Niall crosses his arms over his chest. “Please tell me you at least threw up on Styles' stupid gold boots.”

“I like his boots,” Jade says. She's stretched across Niall's bed, painting her fingernails a deep purple. “It's nice to see a man who isn't afraid to shine.”

The snort that Niall lets out is less than impressed. “I still don't see why you had to give him a ride home. He's a _Panther_ , Liam. It's sacrilegious, is what it is.”

“We are not,” Jade cuts in, brandishing her tiny nail brush, “getting into another football is religion conversation. I refuse. Niall's right, though, about the other part. If you were too busy puking your guts out to let me and Niall know where you were, why'd you give Harry a ride home?”

“You guys are worse than my mom,” Liam complains. It's on the tip of his tongue to just blurt out the truth, to set down the weight he's been carrying on his shoulders, but. He can't forget the way Niall laughed and threatened to make a spreadsheet, or the urgency in Harry's voice when he said, “ _It's not just your life that's at stake.”_

Liam swallows. “He missed the bus, alright? Obviously the – the _food poisoning_ killed a few brain cells, or I wouldn't have offered to give him a ride, but I did, and it's done, and there is no reason we need to rehash it all day.”

He doesn't realize he's raised his voice a bit until he takes in Jade and Niall's identical unimpressed looks.

“Whatever,” Liam says, sinking down to the floor, his back pressed to Niall's dresser. He wraps his arms around his folded knees, cupping his elbows with his hands. Niall's guitar is propped up in one corner, a laundry basket heaping with dirty clothes tucked neatly away in another. It feels more like home than Liam's own room, he's spent so much time here with Niall and Jade, but suddenly Liam doesn’t fit.

He drops his forehead onto his folded arms, breathing through his nose. It's Niall's arm that wraps around his shoulders a moment later, but Niall's mattress creaks too, like Jade's also creeping closer.

“I'm sorry,” Liam mumbles. “I don't know what's wrong with me.” It's the easiest lie he's told yet.

Niall presses his cheek to Liam's shoulder and the mattress creaks again as Jade climbs off it.

“Give me your hand,” she says, already grabbing Liam's wrist and tugging. “You'll feel better with painted nails.”

Liam doesn't argue, just props his chin on his arm as Jade bites her lip, carefully applying purple polish to each of Liam's fingers.

-

Over the next week, Liam pushes himself hard. School's less of a nightmare now than it was when he was a kid with a target on his back, easy picking for the bigger, meaner kids looking for someone's day to ruin, but it's still not Liam's favorite place on earth. Jade thinks the cheerleaders' practice of helping first string with their homework is “asinine, honestly, Liam. They're not your good little housewives, it's so despicable how you football players get away with this sexist bullshit” so Liam spends a lot of time in the library with Niall, laboring over his assignments.

Niall doesn't speak to him for a record twenty-four hours after Liam shoves him in a locker on the way to lunch, but Jade's cackling laughter while Niall wriggles free means that Liam is probably going to pass Physics, so he calls it a draw.

On the nights when he doesn't have to work, Liam eats dinner with his parents after practice and then slips back out the door, giving his mom a big smile and telling her he's just going for a run, seriously, he's team captain and he wants to lead by example, he's not stretching himself too thin, love you, bye.

It's not a complete lie. He does run. Not past the woods where The Incident happened, but in the opposite direction, where the worn-down houses give way to undeveloped land and there's nothing but a few scattered trees and fields of grass around for miles.

That's where Liam really pushes himself. He lets out the anger he's spent all day repressing, until red dots his vision and his claws come out. Liam rides the edge, teetering on the brink of control, then pulls himself back, like jerking on a leash to bring a dog to heel.

Again and again he tests the limit, until he’s worn out, his lungs burning and a headache blooming in his temple.

He just hopes it's enough for Friday's game.

-

The last thing Liam expects when he exits the bus in Westcott is the scent of wolf. He freezes, one foot on the pavement and the other still on the last step, and someone jostles him from behind.

“Move it, Payne,” Samuels says, punctuating his words with a shove between Liam's shoulder blades. It's not quite hard enough to push him off the steps, but there's a less than friendly intent behind it.

Liam moves, but stares Samuels down with enough quiet fury that Samuels drops his gaze, following after their teammates to the visitors’ locker room. The stench of wolf is still thick in his nose, so much like Harry's scent that Liam's dizzy with it, but there's something off about it. He scans the crowd, but no one stands out.

The smell pricks at him during warm-ups, the wind carrying snatches of it that shatter his concentration. It's not any of the Westcott players, he can tell that much. He's also certain that whoever it is can smell him too, but other than the scent that probably can't be covered up anyway, they do nothing to advertise themselves.

Liam tries to put it from his mind and focus on the game, even as his instincts scream not to leave his back exposed, to fight, to run, to do _something_. He can't let himself be benched again, though. Not with his last season of high school football on the line. So Liam grits his teeth and breathes, focusing on the feeling of dirt beneath his cleats, on the bright lights overhead, his teammates standing with him, shoulder to shoulder.

Afterward, Liam barely remembers the game. He blinks up at the scoreboard in a haze, surprised to see the lopsided numbers that spell out a Lions victory.

“Fuck yeah!” Niall yells in his ear, slapping him on the back. Clifford is grinning, happy enough to tolerate a headlock from Samuels. “First win of the season, baby. The Lions are making a comeback!”

Liam takes a deep, steadying breath, but the scent of wolf is gone.

-

“Hey, Payne. Glad you decided to bring your game face today,” Samuels says later, when they're trooping out of the visitors’ locker room back towards the bus. The team is still riding the high of the win, reckless with it, and Samuels in particular has a glint in his eye. “I mean, riding the bench to give Hemmings a chance to play would be decent of you, if you were trying to run a charity instead of a football team.”

“Leave it,” Niall tells him in a low voice. “He's just being a dick.”

Clifford is quick to leap to Hemmings' defense, spouting off some shit about how the real charity work would be Samuels keeping his goddamn mouth shut. Samuels just laughs, which means the whole thing will probably blow over instead of turning into a fight. Liam is surprised to find that he feels disappointed instead of relieved, and boards the bus before he can examine that too closely. Niall follows at his heels, settling himself on the cracked vinyl seat next to Liam.

“You alright?” he asks in the same low voice as before.

Liam just grunts in response. It's taking all his energy to focus on staying in his seat, and not punching Samuels in the nose like he deserves. Samuels is still going back and forth with Clifford and his crew, the tight-knit group of sophomores giving Samuels shit right back, but Liam's been holding onto control by a thread all night, and he's nearing the end of his rope.

“They're just blowing off steam,” Niall says. “You know how Samuels gets. His brain is the size of a pea. He can't even be happy without trying to fight something.”

Words are beyond Liam's capacity right now, so he just grunts again, looking out the window. Niall falls silent next to him, his fingers picking idly at a hole in his jeans as the bus pulls away from Westcott's football field.

Liam presses his forehead to the cool glass of the window and closes his eyes, feeling the rumbling of tires beneath him, tuning out the loud buzz of his teammates as they dissect the game. Niall doesn't join in, and usually his voice is the loudest one of all. Liam shifts in his seat, until he can press his cheek to the glass, too.

It's late when the bus rolls to a stop outside East Dillon High School. There's talk of parties and girls, the long bus ride leaving most of the guys with enough pent-up energy to light up the town, bright as fireworks. Liam feels each plodding step off the bus deep in his bones, exhaustion dragging him down.

“Not really feeling the party scene tonight,” Niall says as the boys begin to disperse to their cars. It's a lie. Niall is always feeling the party scene, especially after a Lions victory. “Jade wants to know if you want to get something to eat,” he continues, tapping out a text on his phone.

Liam shifts the strap of his duffle bag over one shoulder. “Niall, you don't need to babysit me.”

Niall arches his brow. “Who said anything about babysitting? I'm hungry, Jade's hungry, and last time I checked, even grouchy team captains still need to eat.”

“I'm not _grouchy_ ,” Liam says, digging his keys out of his pocket. Niall's dogging his heels and the parking lot's starting to empty, headlights criss-crossing the night.

“Okay, fine. You're not grouchy. You're not acting like yourself, though. What is with you, Liam? Jade and I are trying to be your friend, here, but you're not giving us a lot to work with.”

Something about Niall's tone makes the hair on the back of his neck raise, bile at the back of his throat. Niall and Jade know something's wrong, of course they do; Liam can't cover it up, can't hide it. He can't _do_ this, lead this double life, not when he's always hanging to control by a thread, not when Niall's innocent concern makes Liam want to curl his hands into fists.

At Liam's lack of response, Niall digs in harder. “Don't shut us out, Liam. Something is up with you, I know it is, and I don't want any more of your lame excuses, okay? No more blaming it on the heat, or food poisoning, or whatever the fuck. I want to know the truth.”

“I can't tell you,” Liam says, and it feels like the words are scraped from the back of his throat, barely decipherable.

“Bullshit. I'm your best friend. You can tell me anything, Liam. You know you can.” Niall sounds pissed, but there's something else beneath it, something small and hurt. Liam closes his eyes, swallowing back bile.

“I just need some space, to sort some shit out. That's all.”

“Oh, that's all, is it?” It's going to come to a head, right here in this parking lot, and Liam doesn't know how to stop it. Niall takes a step closer and if he were a wolf, Liam thinks, his eyes would be flashing gold. “Never mind that we're your friends, and we care about you, and we want to help.”

“You can't help. Not with this.” Liam's clenching his keys hard enough to leave marks in his palm, the metal ridge biting into his skin, grounding him.

Niall laughs; a short, clipped bark with no humor behind it. “What is this, your superhero origin story? You're not Bruce Wayne, Liam.”

There's no reason for red to cloud his vision. Niall's his friend, and he's worried, and if their positions were reversed, Liam would be saying all the same things. Liam tries to reason with himself, to coach himself through it, but the wolf part of his brain isn't listening. That part feels backed into a corner, teeth bared, because Niall won't stop pushing, Niall can't know, Liam has to protect himself, he needs to run, he needs to leave right now--

Liam doesn't even realize he's managed to jam his key in the lock until Niall grabs his wrist. Niall's talking, saying – something, there are words coming out of his mouth, but it's like he's speaking a foreign language and Liam can't understand any of it.

“Stop,” he says. Growls it, really, but Niall's grip doesn't loosen. Niall might say something else, then, but Liam doesn't know because the red takes over.

When he comes back to himself, he's breathing hard. It can't have been more than thirty seconds, a minute at the most that he lost control, because distantly he can still hear the rumble of engines as the last of the players exit the parking lot. Niall's panting as hard as he is, his face beet red, which may have something to do with the fact that Liam's got his hand wrapped around Niall's throat, pinning him to the side of Liam's truck.

Liam drops his hand immediately, backing up a few steps and crossing his arms over his chest, tucking his hands away from view. Niall reaches up to touch his neck, chest still heaving, but he doesn't – Liam doesn't think he was squeezing hard enough to do any damage, other than shattering ten years of friendship.

“What the hell, Liam?” Niall sounds a little shaky and scared, fingers still at his throat.

“Are you okay? Oh my god, I didn't mean – I'm so sorry, Niall. I'm so, so sorry.”

“I'll live,” Niall croaks. He's staring at Liam with wide eyes, and Liam looks away, studying the cracks in the asphalt beneath his feet. He can't meet Niall's gaze, can't face what he's done. What he's let the wolf do.

“I'm sorry,” Liam repeats. “I – I don't really trust myself right now. I think maybe you and Jade should go without me.” He takes a shuffling step towards the cab of his truck, and Niall immediately scrambles out of his way. It hurts more than if he'd punched Liam.

“I – sorry,” he says again, folding himself into the driver's seat. He doesn't risk glancing in his side mirror until he's nearly out of the parking lot.

Niall's still standing there, small and alone, fingers touching his throat.

-

At first, Liam drives with only one purpose: to put distance between himself and Niall, like the miles between them can somehow undo the damage he's inflicted. His phone keeps buzzing with new messages, which means that Niall's updated Jade, and she's started her one-woman campaign of fixing things. Liam's not something that can be fixed, so he tosses his phone in the back, where it presumably wedges itself underneath the seat, the buzzing muffled.

His tires eat up the road, unfamiliar street signs flashing by, and when Liam starts to pay attention to where he's driving, he's startled to realize that he isn't lost.

He's a block from Harry's, like his wolf pulled him here subconsciously. Taking the turn onto Harry's street more viciously than he needs to, Liam pulls up in front of his house, killing the ignition. His breathing is too loud in the sudden silence without the rumble of the engine, and he closes his eyes, hands gripping the steering wheel hard enough to turn his knuckles white.

He doesn't want to be here, but he doesn't know where else to go.

Before he can lose his nerve, Liam unbuckles his seat belt, scrambling out of the truck. He shoves his shaking hands into the pockets of his jeans so they won't give him away, but he can't help the way his shoulders hunch as he makes his way up Harry's front walk.

The door swings open before Liam can even lift his hand to knock. Harry's standing there with something like a smirk pulling at his mouth, green eyes watching Liam with amusement. He looks like he's been expecting Liam, and for some reason that makes anger lick hotly in Liam's gut.

“Liam! This is certainly a surprise.” Liam's sure it's not. Harry probably heard his truck from a mile off. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

It's hard to spit the words out between his grinding teeth, but Liam tries his best. “I need your help.”

Harry's grin is absolutely wolfish, and Liam’s hands curl into fists, the too familiar sting of his nails biting into his palms. The pain grounds him a little, keeps the red on the edges of his vision, a tinge instead of a blackout.

“Well, I don't know, Liam,” Harry says. “I mean, you spurned my offer before. That hurts a man, you know?”

“Lucky you're not a man, then,” Liam grits out. His palms are slick, and he can smell the coppery tang of blood, thick on the back of his tongue.

Harry can smell it too, and something in his expression shifts. “What's going on? You seem… on edge.”

Pulling his hands free from his pockets, Liam rubs his shredded palms against his jeans to wipe the blood away. “I can't – I can't _do this_. I don't know how to make it stop.”

“Liam.” Harry's voice is careful, almost cautious. It makes Liam want to rip his throat out. “It doesn't _stop_. I thought I explained that.”

The red is creeping in again, and Liam pushes it back, clinging to control with everything he's got. “ _Obviously_. I get that, okay. There's no fucking cure. But you don't – you've played football all of high school. You have friends, and family, and you've never--” He can't explain it. Can't put it into words. Cutting himself off, he runs a hand through his hair, pushing it back off his forehead.

“Never what, Liam?” Harry asks, taking a step closer, crowding Liam's space on the concrete slab that serves as Harry's front porch.

“I feel like I'm gonna hurt someone,” Liam says, voice tight and small. “I almost – fuck, Harry, I almost hurt Niall. It's like, something'll set me off and it just – this rage just takes over. Everything goes red, and I--” His breath is coming too fast, chest rising and falling like he's run a mile, sweating pricking his temple, beneath his arms. Liam's falling apart at the seams.

Or maybe the wolf is pulling him apart.

“Liam.” Harry's voice is sharp, cuts through the red Liam hadn't even realized had taken over. “Liam, look at me.” His hand is on Liam's shoulder, a heavy, warm weight that Liam focuses on. “Just breathe, okay, Liam? Breathe for me.”

“He looked so _scared_ , Harry. He looked at me like – like--”

“Don't,” Harry says fiercely. “Whatever you're thinking right now, it's bullshit, Liam.”

Now that he's started, Liam can't stop, the words tumbling out, tripping over his tongue, slipping past his teeth. “I didn't want to hurt him. I didn't. But it – the red takes over, and I don't – I can't control it, I don't know how to stop it, and it – fuck, Harry, it _scares_ me.”

Harry wraps his hand around the back of Liam's neck, the same way he did after the Lions/Panthers game, and it settles something in Liam, letting him relax a fraction. “Breathe, Liam. That's all I want you to do right now, okay? Just keep breathing.”

For once, Liam listens to him, taking a deep, shuddering breath before releasing it. He does it a few more times, Harry's hand still at the back of his neck, grounding him.

“That's it,” Harry says, voice soft and soothing. “Just like that, Liam.”

Liam lets his eyes fall shut, pressing into Harry's touch. Harry's fingers are gentle at his nape, chasing the tension from his muscles.

“Styles, you fucking the pizza boy, or what?” A sudden voice calls, and Liam jerks back, eyes flying open. Harry swears under his breath, dropping his hand.

“It's not the pizza. Go back inside, Lou,” Harry says, and Liam recognizes that tone, even though it's weird to hear it when it's not aimed at him. It's Harry's _I mean it_ tone, the one Liam can never ignore.

Apparently Lou doesn't have the same problem, because he pops his head into the doorway, chin hooked over Harry's shoulder. It's both familiar and possessive, and there's a glint in Lou's eye that says he meant for Liam to notice that.

“What have you got here, H? A lost little pup who couldn't find his way home?”

“Louis.” There's a growl in Harry's voice now. Louis' eyes flash, but he backs down.

“Whatever. Don't share your shiny new toy. Just let us know when the pizza gets here, yeah?” He bares his teeth at Liam in what might be a grin, if his canines were less sharp.

“Bye, Lou,” Harry says dryly, bracing one hand on the door frame to block Louis' view. With a cackling laugh, Louis finally retreats back inside, disappearing into the depths of the house.

“Sorry about him. He gets a little territorial around new people. He'll get used to you, though.”

Liam teeters on the edge of Harry's porch, adrenaline still pumping through his veins. “Is he, uh. Part of your pack, then?”

An easy smile creases Harry's face. “Unfortunately. Listen, you want to come in? Lou and the girls are all out back. They won't bother you, promise.” When Liam hesitates, Harry adds, “C'mon, Liam. I can't help you if you keep running away. _Trust_ me.”

“Okay,” Liam says after a second's hesitation, and Harry steps back to let him cross the threshold.

-

“You want something to drink?” Harry leads the way towards the kitchen, bare feet padding against the hardwood floors. Liam follows after him cautiously, overwhelmed with the amount of smells Harry's house contains. It's like there's an entire pack of wolves living in his walls, and when he catches a snatch of loud laughter and voices echoing down the hall, Liam feels like an idiot. Of course it smells that way, because Harry's entire pack is hanging out in the backyard.

“I'm sorry,” Harry says, gesturing for Liam to sit at the table and reaching into the cupboard to pull out a glass. “If I had known you were coming, I would have made them all clear out. I know it's a lot for you.”

“It's fine,” Liam says politely, because he's the one imposing here. Harry offers him a quick grin, filling his glass and sliding it across the table towards him. Liam takes a few deep gulps of ice water, trying to douse the fire in his veins.

“So.” Harry braces his palms against the table. “Want to tell me what happened with Niall?”

The glass slips in Liam's hand, and he sets it down with enough force to nearly crack it.

“Liam, it's _okay_. We're going to figure it out, alright? But I need to know where we're starting. You have to talk to me.”

It's too hard to look Harry in the eye, so Liam addresses his clasped hands instead. “Okay. Okay. We were – it started with Samuels running his mouth after the game. He just gets that way sometimes, likes to rile the guys up to get a reaction. I _know_ that. Niall was trying to talk me down, but I just. I had to shut everything out or I felt like I was gonna lose it.”

Liam runs his fingertip along a grain in the wood of Harry's table, forcing himself to continue talking. “When we got back to Dillon, Niall tried to get me to go out with him and Jade, grab a bite to eat, but I just. I couldn't get my head on straight. We argued, and he tried to stop me from getting into my truck.” He glances up, and Harry's watching him, eyes steady. Liam drops his gaze again.

“I – I don't really remember it. Is that normal? When I get – my vision goes, like, red, and I--”

“Yeah, Liam. It's normal,” Harry says. “Tell me what happened next.”

Liam shrugs one shoulder. “Dunno. When I came back to myself, my hand was around his throat and I had him pressed against the truck. I let go, apologized like fifty times, and drove off before he could tell me he never wants to see me again.”

Harry doesn't say anything for a long moment, and Liam finally risks looking up. Harry's still studying him, a furrow between his brows.

“Did you hurt him?” he asks at last. “Or did you just scare him?”

“ _Just scare him_? Harry, I had him by the throat!”

“But did you _hurt_ him?” Harry presses. “Think, Liam. How hard was your grip? When you came back to yourself, how hard were you squeezing his neck?”

“I-- he could still breathe. I don't think it was hard enough to bruise, even. He couldn't have escaped, I don't think, but. There was no lasting physical damage, as far as I know.”

A smile pulls at the corners of Harry's mouth. “Good. That's good, Liam. Niall's pack to you, yeah? Your best friend? You can't control your wolf yet, but your wolf isn't out of control.” Gesturing with his hands, Harry continues, “You have to understand, wolf instincts – your reaction was completely normal. He crossed a line with you, and you just put him in his place. That's all.”

Liam huffs in disbelief. “Oh, is that all it was? Just putting him in his place? Harry, he was _terrified_. I can't – I can't go around choking people when I get mad. I can't go around _being_ so mad all the time. I can't _live_ like this.”

When Harry grabs his wrist, Liam's vision doesn't go red. He doesn't pull back, or fight Harry's grip. He sits still and waits.

“You don't have to be mad all the time,” Harry says, and his thumb starts tracing lazy circles over Liam's wild pulse. “You just have to understand how a wolf brain works. When you feel threatened, or scared, or like things are out of your control – your wolf goes into protective mode.” Harry cocks an eyebrow, lips quirked in a grin. “You learn to manage your fear, you learn to manage your anger. That simple.”

“But I'm not _afraid_ of--”

“You are,” Harry interrupts. “You're afraid of losing control, aren't you? Afraid of hurting people? You're not going zero to sixty here, Liam. You're always at, like, a thirty, so it's easy for things to tip you over the edge right now.”

Liam feels like right now, he's at a ten at the most, and with every sweep of Harry's thumb, it's getting lower and lower.

“How are you doing that?” he asks. “Like, calming me down like that.”

Harry's thumb pauses for a moment, then resumes its slow circles. He sucks in an audible breath before asking, “Is it helping? Different things work for different people.”

Liam lets out a slow exhale. “Yeah, it's – I feel, I dunno. Less on guard? Some of it is your smell, I think--” he freezes, feeling the way heat rushes to his cheeks. “I mean, like,” he quickly backpedals. “I'm getting used to it? Your scent, or whatever. I don't feel so panicky, when you're around. That's a wolf thing too, right? Since you're pretty much the only wolf I know?”

“Yeah, Liam,” Harry says, cheeks dimpling. “It's a wolf thing.” He licks his lips, drawing the bottom one into his mouth. “Listen, as much as I like having you all to myself, you think you're ready to meet some more wolves? I'm sure Louis has been filling the girls' heads with all kinds of stories about you by now. We should probably go set the record straight.”

Liam gapes at him. “But Louis doesn't even know me.”

Laughing, Harry stands up, tugging Liam to his feet too. “Believe me, he wouldn't let something like that stop him. C'mon, Liam. I want you to meet my pack.”

-

Liam pauses in the doorway, just breathing. Harry's got one foot on the patio already, and he turns back towards Liam.

“Don't be nervous,” he says, voice quiet. “If it gets to be too much, we'll leave, alright?”

Nodding, Liam follows after him, keeping his hands curled into tight fists.

Harry's patio is from another world, the kind of thing that's featured on the Home and Garden channel Liam's mom loves so much. There's a massive wicker sectional that looks more expensive than the couch in Liam's living room, and even a flat screen TV under the fancy wooden thing overhead that Liam is 95 percent sure is called a pergola. He wonders, suddenly, what Harry thinks of his house; the thin floorboards that creak with age, the wallpaper coating the upstairs hallway that hasn't been updated since the 80s.

There's not time to dwell on it, though. What makes Liam swallow against a sudden influx of nerves are the people – wolves? - lounging around like Harry's backyard isn't straight out of a magazine.

On the TV, something explodes. The sound is quickly muted, and a leggy blonde bounces over, offering Liam a hand to shake.

“You must be Liam,” she chirps, her big blue eyes rimmed in dark, heavy make up. She looks kind of like a girlier version of Louis, but her features -- her smile -- are soft instead of sharp. “I'm Perrie.”

“Hi,” Liam says, shaking her hand. His palms are damp with sweat, but Perrie doesn't seem to mind. Threading her fingers through Liam's, she tugs him closer towards the crowded sectional.

Louis is curled up against one of the armrests, and he pulls his lip back to bare his teeth in a way that’s a little too aggressive to be called a smile. The other end of the sectional is occupied by two girls who wouldn't look out of place in a Bond movie, equal parts lethal and gorgeous.

“That's Jesy,” Perrie announces, pointing to the girl furthest from Louis with dark, wavy hair that falls nearly to her waist. Jesy's red lips split into a smile and it changes her whole face, making her look less like she's plotting how to murder Liam and get away with it, and more like she's sharing an inside joke with him. “And this is Leigh-Anne,” Perrie adds, nodding towards the slender girl next to Jesy with a riot of thick curls framing her face.

Shoving Leigh-Anne's bare legs off the cushion, Perrie throws herself onto the sectional, pulling Liam down with her so he lands in the corner, book ending the three girls. It leaves an entire cushion between him and Louis, and Leigh-Anne snaps her teeth, which makes Jesy cackle.

“Down girl,” Perrie says, and then she's laughing too, letting Leigh-Anne drape her legs across her thighs. Leigh-Anne's feet land in Liam's lap, which Liam isn't sure what to do about, until Harry's settling himself into the space left between Liam and Louis, one arm draped casually over the back of the sectional behind Liam. With his other hand, Harry tickles the bottom of Leigh-Anne's foot, and with a loud squeal she retracts her legs, burrowing closer to Jesy.

“You're horrible,” she tells Harry. Perrie pats her shin and Jesy pulls her in close, an arm looped around her waist.

Harry huffs with mock indignation as Liam watches the exchange, bottom lip caught between his teeth. “Liam's new, alright, y'all can't be crawling all over him as soon as introductions are made--”

“Oh, is there a grace period we're supposed to wait for?” Louis asks, leaning around Harry to leer in Liam's general direction.

“I take it back,” Leigh-Anne decides. “ _You're_ the horrible one,” she informs Louis. Perrie slowly tips over until her side is resting against Leigh-Anne's folded legs, her cheek pressed to Leigh-Anne's knee.

“No,” Jesy says, and she sounds amused. “I think it's safe to say that they're both horrible.”

“Heyyy,” Harry protests. Louis just laughs. Liam's head is spinning.

Inside, the doorbell rings.

“Fuck, finally,” Louis says, then kicks Harry's thigh. “Your house, your door. Go get the pizza.”

“Don't be rude,” Perrie scolds him, then turns her big blue eyes towards Harry. “Please get the pizza?”

“He has to,” Jesy points out. “He paid for it with his daddy's credit card.”

Harry looks torn, shooting Liam a worried glance. Liam tries to nod subtly, which is not an easy task with five pairs of eyes watching him.

“I'll be back in two minutes. Nobody kill anyone while I'm gone.” Extracting himself from the pile, Harry bounds towards the door, tripping over the doorway if the sudden crash is anything to go by. Liam winces.

Louis turns to him the second Harry's out of earshot, and even for a wolf, his teeth look sharp. “So. You're the lost little pup who followed Harry home, huh?”

One of the girls reprimands him, a soft _Louis_ with no real bite to it.

“I didn't – he invited me,” Liam says, sitting up straighter.

Louis doesn't flinch. “Our pack's pretty full as is. Not really sure there's space for you, bro.”

“Oh, don't be like that, Lou.” It's Leigh-Anne. “Enough of the bravado, yeah? If there's space for me, there's space for Liam. Ignore him,” she adds, addressing Liam now. “Dunno if Harry told you, but--”

“Told who what?” Harry asks, popping back through the doorway with three pizza boxes in his arms. Setting them down on the table, he says, “I didn't have enough hands to grab drinks, too, so if you want something, go get it yourself.”

“Louis and I'll grab drinks,” Jesy announces, and there's something in her tone that stops even Louis from arguing back. They disappear inside, Jesy leading the way. Louis doesn't glance back once.

Sinking back onto the sectional next to Liam, Harry nudges his shoulder. “Go on,” he says. “Have a slice. There's plenty.”

“I'm not really hungry,” Liam says, startling when Perrie suddenly presses up on his other side, chin hooking over Liam's shoulder. She smells like Harry, kind of, that same wild scent present, even under her flowery perfume.

“Seriously, just ignore Louis. He's all bark and no bite, you know?”

Harry clears his throat. “I'm sure Jesy's giving him an earful. Packs evolve. It's fine. He'll be fine. Liam, have some pizza.”

Liam gets the sense that there's more to the issue than Louis not liking new people, but he doesn't push it. He takes a slice of pizza, biting off a small mouthful. When the taste hits his tongue, he realizes he's starving, and nearly inhales the rest of it.

Harry gives him an approving smile when he reaches for a second slice. Liam tries not to read into it.

When Jesy and Louis come back with drinks, six cans of coke between them, Louis deposits himself in Jesy's spot while she settles herself between Leigh-Anne and Perrie, the gap between them wider since Perrie is still plastered to Liam's side. The girls don't seem to mind the change in the seating arrangement – Leigh-Anne even picks the sausages off her pizza and gives them to Louis, tucking her feet under his thigh.

Liam, for his part, tries not to act as overwhelmed as he feels, chugging half his coke without really tasting it. Someone unmutes the TV, though the volume is still turned down low, but it adds enough background noise to cover up the fact that Liam's not really participating in the conversation that ebbs and flows around him.

It's not until Harry elbows him in the side that Liam realizes that he's spaced out completely.

“You doing alright?” Harry asks him in undertone. The arm he had draped over the back of the couch has found its way around Liam's shoulders, and it should feel too warm, too much, but it settles Liam instead, grounding him.

“Yeah,” Liam says. “I should – I should get home soon. Don't want to get grounded again for being out all night.”

Harry blinks at him for a moment before laughing loudly. “I'm sorry,” he says. “I know I shouldn't laugh, but – if your mom knew the truth, she'd be happy you were out with me all night, instead of ripping your house to shreds.”

Liam tries out a smile but it doesn't fit right, like shoving his foot into the wrong shoe. “Yeah, I guess.” He pauses, and adds, “Your parents, are they...”

Harry's expression turns serious so fast it gives Liam whiplash. “Oh shit, I didn't even think about – yeah, Liam. All of us were born, so we – fuck.” He runs a hand through his hair, pushing the long strands back from his forehead. “I'm sorry. That's gotta be hard, your parents not knowing. It's shit.”

“Yeah, well.” Liam shrugs, jostling Harry's arm. “If you think of a solution, let me know, yeah? I gotta go.” He stands up, and Harry's arm falls away.

“Um, it was nice, meeting you all,” he says awkwardly as everyone stares up at him. “And, uh. Thanks for the pizza?”

Harry jumps up after him. “I'll walk you to the door.”

Neither of them speaks as they make their way inside and down the hall towards the front door. It's late; later than Liam would have stayed out with Niall and Jade. His phone is still somewhere on the floor of his truck and tomorrow, Liam knows, he's going to have to find a way to make it up to Niall.

Liam's hand is on the doorknob when Harry says, “Full moon week after next. You coming 'round?”

Liam's fingers close over the doorknob, the metal cool against his skin. “I don't know.”

“It's – it'd be nice, for you to run with the pack. You'd like it, I think.”

Eyes slipping shut, Liam takes a deep breath. “I'll think about it, okay?”

He's out the door before Harry can respond, and speeds the whole way home to make it before curfew.

-

Niall doesn't respond to any of his texts, so Liam cheats. Shoving the nearest books into his backpack, he makes the short trek to Niall's house on foot the next day. There's a chance, he knows as he bangs on the front door, that Niall's already told his dad what happened, and that Liam won't make it farther than the front porch. He's got his backpack hooked over one shoulder, the excuse that he's dropped by to study ready to go on his lips.

It's not Bobby that answers the door, though. Niall's hair is a mess like he just rolled out of bed, but there are no bruises ringing his pale neck. Liam has to lock his knees to keep from crumpling in relief.

“Niall,” he says. “Niall, I am so, so sorry.”

On a normal day, Niall's eyes are the color of the Texas sky – a clear, endless blue, streaked with sunshine. Today, though, they're like chips of ice, glittering coldly.

“I'm only going to say this once,” Niall says, arms crossed over his chest. “So listen up. Something is up with you, Liam. It's not like you to snap like that. I want to know the truth. Tell me what's really going on.”

Liam's mouth goes dry. “I – Niall, I can't explain it.”

Niall narrows his eyes. “Try me.”

Shifting the strap of his backpack, Liam racks his brain for an excuse, but comes up blank. He's sick of lying, but he can't expect Niall to believe the truth. Doesn't think it's his truth to tell, anyway. Harry’s voice echoes in his head. _There are lives at stake_.

Taking a deep breath, Liam finally says, “I just – you have to believe me, Niall, if I could tell you, I would. It's nothing like you think, it's--” he falters, licking at his dry lips.

“What I _think_ ,” Niall says, “is that it's shit, to lie to your friends. What I _think_ is that you care more about protecting some dumb secret than being honest, that you don't even _trust_ me. What I _think_ ,” his voice shakes, and Liam’s heart breaks, “is that you should leave, because I can't even look at you right now.”

“I – Niall. Please, don't, you have to understand--”

“Save it, Liam. I'll see you at practice.” He shuts the door in Liam's face with a final-sounding click, the deadbolt sliding into place a second later.

-

Niall's nowhere to be found Monday morning, but Jade is waiting by Liam's locker, eating an apple like it's personally offended her.

“How's it going?” Liam asks, eyes on the lock as he dials in the combination. His locker doesn't budge when he tries to open it, and he bites back a curse.

“That'd be a better question for Niall, don't you think?” Jade says, and Liam stills.

Swallowing the sudden lump in his throat, he asks, “What did he say to you?”

Jade just looks at him, biting into her apple. Juice spills down her chin and she wipes it away with her wrist, somehow managing not to smear her lipstick. “He didn't offer any specifics. Just told me to stay away from you, unless I wanted to get hurt too.” She takes another bite, the crunch of it reverberating in Liam's brain. “Now, why would Niall say something like that?”

Liam closes his eyes. “I wouldn't – I would never hurt you. Either of you.”

“I want to believe you, Liam.” When Liam cracks his eyes open, Jade's looking back at him with concern, the skin between her eyebrows wrinkled. “But only one of my best friends has spent the past month lying, and it's not Niall.”

She pokes Liam in the chest. Hard. “Fix it. Whatever you did, fix it.”

Spinning on her heel, she walks off before Liam can reply. He slams his hand against the locker, cursing under his breath when he dents the metal.

-

Practice is tense with Niall not speaking to him and Samuels being his usual aggravating self. Liam focuses on his breathing, remembering what Harry said. If there's one place Liam feels in control, it's on the field. He's always been able to drop everything when he's got a football in his hand, to push away anything that isn't the game.

Now he has to fight the red that always prickles at the edge of his vision, block out the constant sensory input that overwhelms him. He starts skipping lunch – doesn't have anyone to eat with, anyway – and spends his time in the weight room instead, doing squats until his legs give out.

After school, Liam picks up every shift at work he can because the only way to shut his mind off at night is to exhaust himself to the bone. The Lions pick up a win against Westerby and Liam doesn't wolf out on the field, but he still goes home with pent-up energy, and throws a football through the tire swing hanging in his backyard until his arm is sore.

It's not as fun without Niall's constant ribbing and Jade's dry commentary to keep him company. Liam keeps his eyes fixed on the tire as he throws again and again and again. He doesn't look up at the night sky, where the moon grows closer and closer to full with each passing night.

He doesn't think about how loneliness aches like a physical thing.

And he definitely doesn't think about Harry.

-

The game Friday against Arnett Mead is a big one, but all Liam can focus on is the full moon symbol on his calendar, a mocking little circle ruining his Thursday.

After what happened the last time, Liam knows he can't stay home, can't hide from the fever that burns him from the inside out alone in his room.

He just doesn't know if he's ready to run with Harry's pack.

The easiest decision to make is no decision at all, and Liam spends the better part of an hour pacing in his room, wearing the floorboards thin. He changes his mind half a dozen times, the setting sun like a ticking clock, and he's close to flipping a coin when his mom shouts up the stairs, “Liam, someone's at the door for you!”

Liam freezes. On instinct – and when did it become instinct? - he sniffs sharply, and immediately relaxes. It's just Harry.

He races downstairs so fast he nearly skids on the hardwood. His mom is waiting at the bottom of the steps, one hand on her hip.

“It's Harry Styles,” she tells him, and she has a _tone_. “The one you stayed out all night with.”

“I know, mom, I know. I already apologized, for falling asleep and forgetting to call.”

She doesn't look impressed. “He said he would have you home by curfew.”

Liam winces. “I know he said that, but I told you, it was my fault.” Harry must be waiting on the porch, listening to every word. “Is it okay if I just plan to spend the night, this time? Harry lives on the other side of town, and you know you hate when I drive at night.”

His mom draws herself up to her full height. “Liam, it's a school night! You have a _game_ tomorrow.”

“I know.” Liam feels like a broken record. “But--”

From the living room, a newspaper crinkles audibly as Liam’s dad turns the page. He doesn’t bother looking up, just says gruffly, “Listen to your mother. You have enough distractions from the game, son. Don’t need to be messing around with any Panthers.”

“You may be eighteen, but as long as you're living under my roof, you'll follow my rules,” his mom adds with a tone that means the discussion is over.

Liam grits his teeth. “Can I at least talk to him for a minute then?”

“Fine,” she says, and Liam bolts out the door. He literally runs into Harry on the porch, and Harry catches him with an arm around his waist.

“Whoa, easy there, slugger.”

“She won't let me go,” Liam hisses, mindful that his mom is probably peeking through the window to watch their exchange. “I can't – Harry, I _can't_ shift in my room. She'll hear me, she'll walk in and see, she'll—”

“Easy,” Harry says again, and his fingers find Liam's wrist, dragging over his frantic pulse. He leans in to whisper in Liam's ear, his cheek brushing Liam's. “Sneak out. You can get out through the window, can't you? I'll park around the corner and wait for you.”

Liam shudders. The urge to shove his face into Harry's neck and just breathe is overwhelming. “What if she catches me?” he asks, forcing the words out.

“A risk you'll have to take,” Harry counters, leaning back so he can catch Liam's eye. “Unless you want to explain the whole werewolf thing to her in the next five minutes? We don't exactly have all night, Liam.”

Swallowing thickly, Liam nods. There's only one choice, really. “Okay. I'll – I'll do it. Wait for me, okay? Don't – don't leave without me.”

He hates the way the words come out small, almost pleading. Hates Harry's gentle smile even more. Turning on his heel, he walks back through the front door where his mom is waiting.

“It's fine,” he tells her, pushing the guilt down deep. “I'm just gonna head up to my room, try to get through my Physics homework. Probably turn in early.”

“Your father and I just want what's best for you, sweetheart,” his mom says, and Liam closes his eyes, allows himself a second to mourn the loss of the trust he's about to break.

“I know, mom. It's fine, really. Good night. Love you.”

“Love you too,” she calls to Liam's retreating back. He doesn't turn around, climbing the stairs two at a time. With shaking fingers, he locks his bedroom door behind him and for a moment, he's paralyzed with indecision. Liam's never had a reason to sneak out before, and the rapidly setting sun doesn't give him a lot of time to plan now.

Fumbling for his laptop, he cues up a playlist, fiddling with the volume until he thinks it's just loud enough for human ears to hear through his closed door. Hopefully it will be enough to cover up the lack of noise if his mom gets nosy.

His bedroom door only locks from the inside, and anyway his parents will definitely catch him if he tries to go out the front door, so Liam takes a deep breath before sliding his window open and popping off the screen.

The distance from his window to the ground is far enough to break a few bones, but Liam's new upper body strength and a strategically placed dormer over the kitchen window right below his helps Liam make a silent, injury-free escape. He has a moment of panic when he drops to the ground and comes face to face with his mom through the kitchen window, but her eyes are on her soapy hands, washing up the dirty dishes from dinner.

Letting out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding, Liam ducks below the edge of the window, creeping around the back and hopping the neighbor's fence. He makes his way to the street, ears perked for the sound of Harry's rumbling engine.

When he slides into the passenger seat, Harry doesn't say a word. He just shifts the truck into drive and leaves Liam's rundown neighborhood in the rear view mirror, the golden light of the setting sun not quite gold enough to gild over its rough edges.

-

Harry drives them to a different field this time, closer to his house, but still far enough outside city limits that they won't attract unwanted attention. Liam smells the rest of the pack before the truck even rolls to a stop.

“You good?” Harry asks, shutting off the truck.

“Yeah,” Liam says, rubbing his palms up and down over his jeans, like he can physically soothe his jangled nerves. “Yeah, I'm good.”

Unlatching the door, Harry climbs out of the truck, and Liam follows.

The girls and Louis must've driven separately, because they're all gathered around a second truck. Perrie and Leigh-Anne are both sitting in the truck bed, legs dangling down from the open hatch, and Louis is tossing a football back and forth with Jesy, who's got a surprisingly good arm.

“About time you got here,” Louis calls. “I see you've picked up a stray.”

“Be nice,” Harry says, stopping by the truck to kiss Perrie, then Leigh-Anne's cheeks. The fever is still burning at Liam's insides, but it's not as intense as last time. The atmosphere is different too – it feels like a party, the five of them laughing and joking, at ease even with the sinking sun low in the sky. Liam wants to belong so bad it hurts, and he lurches, catching himself against the truck.

“You okay, babe?” Perrie asks, brushing a hand over his forehead, pushing his hair back.

“It's only his second shift,” Harry says, cupping the back of Liam's neck, fingers cool against Liam's burning skin. Liam feels trapped, with two sets of hands on him, but not in a bad way. It's grounding, even as pain licks at his spine, makes him grit his teeth. Harry steps in closer, his body a line of heat along Liam's back, breath tickling Liam's neck. Ruffling his hair one last time, Perrie drops her hand, leaning against Leigh-Anne's shoulder.

“C'mon,” Harry murmurs in his ear. “We'll catch up with them after we shift. Want you to myself, for just a bit longer.” Reaching for Liam's hand, he tugs him along, away from the others. Jesy lets out a loud catcall, and Louis' cackling laugh follows them, but Harry just flips them a finger over one shoulder without looking back.

“What do they, um – what do they think we're doing, exactly?” Liam asks, stumbling over uneven terrain. Harry's grip tightens until Liam finds his balance.

“Who cares? They're a bunch of dirty-minded perverts, anyway. Forget them.”

“Harry, they're your _pack_.”

Harry looks back long enough to shoot him a shit-eating grin. “I mean that fondly, Liam. They're just--” he cuts himself off when Liam stumbles again, going down hard on one knee. He breathes out between clenched teeth, reeling from the pain.

“Okay, far enough,” Harry decides, dropping to his knees next to Liam. He pulls his shirt over his head before reaching for the buttons on Liam's flannel. Liam bats his hands away.

“I can – I can do it,” he says. He fumbles a few times, but he gets the buttons undone, shrugging off his shirt. Harry's already stripped off the rest of his clothes, laying them out over a dried out, fallen log. Liam keeps his eyes averted as he unzips his jeans, shoving them down his hips along with his boxers. It's a struggle, kicking off his boots and wrestling his jeans the rest of the way off, especially with the sharp spasms of pain that rack his body, but Harry sits back and lets Liam do it himself.

He's breathing hard by the time he's undressed, and he glances up, startled, when Harry cups his neck again.

“Just breathe through it, Liam,” he reminds him.

The pain swallows him.

-

“This is starting to become a bad habit,” Liam croaks when he wakes up next to Harry again, naked and surrounded by wilderness. Harry's lips pull into a slow, sleepy smile before he yawns, sitting up and rubbing at his eyes.

“I told you,” he says, sounding a little hoarse. “You get used to it.”

Maybe he's right. Liam's not nearly as nauseous this time around as they pull on their clothes. He's also less uncomfortable; at least, until Harry leads them back to where the trucks are parked and the rest of the pack has already gathered.

Liam pulls up short, hastily turning away.

Harry smirks. “Liam. Don't tell me you've never seen a naked girl before.”

Cheeks hot, Liam huffs, “I – it's different! They're – I'm – I'm trying to be _respectful_.”

“I think it's sweet,” Jesy says. When Liam looks over, she's managed to get her jeans back on, and her long hair covers most of her chest. Liam quickly drops his gaze again when she sweeps it back over one shoulder. It appears she's still missing her bra.

He's saved from further embarrassment when another truck comes chugging down the drive, kicking up dust and gravel behind it.

“Oh thank god,” Perrie says. “I'm absolutely _starving_.”

The truck rolls to a stop and Leigh-Anne jumps out, several McDonald's bags in hand. “Breakfast!” she shouts, laughing when Perrie and Jesy storm her. “Ladies, please! One at a time, one at a time!”

Perrie buries her face in Leigh-Anne's neck, nipping playfully, and Leigh-Anne shrieks. “Bad dog!”

Liam's a little wary of approaching a group of rambunctious, half-naked (in Jesy and Perrie's case – Leigh-Anne, at least, is wearing all of her clothes) girls, but the scent of hash browns and Egg McMuffins draws him in. His mouth waters. He's suddenly ravenous.

“Um,” Liam says, eyeing the brown paper bags. There are visible grease spots and Liam's stomach growls. “Is there enough for, um, I mean, I know I'm not--”

Rolling her eyes, Leigh-Anne holds out one of the bags to him. “Help yourself, Liam. There's plenty to go around.”

“Thanks,” Liam says gratefully, ripping into the bag and pulling out an egg McMuffin. He eats it in two bites flat, realizes what he's done, and promptly blushes.

Perrie bares her teeth at him in what Liam suspects is supposed to be a smile. It's friendlier than any of Louis', at least. “That's nothing,” she says. “Watch this.” She proceeds to shove an entire Egg McMuffin into her mouth, jaw working as she chews. Swallowing only a few seconds later, she sticks her tongue out. “Ta da!”

“That,” Jesy says, “is disgusting. You're a wolf, babe, not a barbarian.”

While Leigh-Anne reassures Perrie that it was, in fact, impressive, Liam carefully takes small, manageable bites of his hash brown, chewing them fully before swallowing. The hot, greasy food settles heavily in his stomach, makes him feel halfway human again.

The thought makes the hash brown turn to ash on his tongue. Liam's not human, even if Harry's pack made him feel like he wasn't a monster for a short while.

“You look like you're going to be sick,” Jesy observes. “You're, like, really pale.”

“He's got a green tinge to him, don't you think?” Perrie adds. “Was something wrong with the McMuffin? Because I feel fine.”

Liam shakes his head. “No, no, the food's fine, I just--” he looks around for Harry, realizes with another lurch that he and Louis are nowhere to be found. “It's just hard, adjusting to – you know. Being a – a wolf,” he manages to say, pushing the word past his teeth.

It's Leigh-Anne who settles by his side, rubbing his shoulder with reassuring circles. “I know it's a lot,” she says. “But you really do pick up pack culture pretty quick.”

Liam looks over at her in surprise. “Were you bitten too?”

That makes Leigh-Anne laugh, throwing her head back. “Oh god, no. You really do have a lot to learn, don't you?” She leans in closer to Liam. “Smell me,” she instructs. “Go on.”

Cautiously, Liam presses his nose close to Leigh-Anne's neck, breathing deep. She smells like pack, the wild scent all of Harry's wolves seem to carry, clinging to her skin like perfume. Beneath that, though, is something different. Liam pulls back when it hits him. “You're human!”

Leigh-Anne grins. “He can be taught.”

“But I thought – aren't you – you're _pack_.”

Sitting down on Leigh-Anne's other side, Jesy drapes her arm over Leigh-Anne's narrow shoulders. “Every pack needs a resident human, don't they? Our Leigh takes good care of us.”

“They keep me scented so I don't offend them with my human stench,” Leigh-Anne explains.

Perrie scoffs. “I love your stench, babe.”

“But how does that work?” Liam asks. “Like, Harry made it seem like werewolves are some big secret. Are humans allowed to know?”

Jesy and Perrie exchange a look. “It's a bit complicated, I suppose,” Jesy says at last. “Like, obviously it would not go well if the entire world knew about our existence. There's a reason we propagate folklore so everyone thinks it's just a myth.”

“But if a human is pack, and you trust them, why not tell them?” Perrie shrugs. “Leigh would never out us, and it'd be a pain in the ass trying to cover it up all the time if she didn't know. Plus, it's always good to have someone who doesn't shift on the full moon. Like having a designated driver, ain't it?”

“Designated errand runner,” Leigh-Anne says. “Designated breakfast getter. Designated--” she cuts off laughing as Jesy tackles her, pinning her to the ground. Liam takes a cautious step away, and it puts him downwind from the three girls, two wolves and a human, happily a part of Harry's pack.

If he closes his eyes, he can pick out each individual scent, although they all smell mostly like Harry, or maybe just like pack. He breathes deep, trying to decide which one it really is, and his eyes fly open.

“You were at the Westcott game,” he blurts out. Perrie tilts her head in confusion and Leigh-Anne frowns. Jesy, though, meets Liam's eye with her chin tilted high, and Liam knows she's the one.

“Why?” he asks.

Jesy purses her lips. They were a brilliant red last night, but all her makeup has faded away between shifts. She's still the most intimidating girl Liam's ever met, and he's best friends with Jade. “What you have to understand,” she starts to say, but Harry's booming voice interrupts.

“Is that breakfast?” he calls, sauntering into their little clearing with one arm slung over Louis' shoulder. Liam can't read Louis' face at all, and drops his gaze to his half-eaten hash brown.

Harry presses a kiss to Leigh-Anne's cheek in thanks before he dives into the last bag left, divvying up the food between himself and Louis. He doesn't offer an explanation of where he was the past ten minutes, just squeezes Liam's knee before shoving an Egg McMuffin down his throat.

“Wha'time'sit?” he croaks around a mouthful of half-chewed food.

Leigh-Anne looks at her watch and makes a face. “Do you want the good news or the bad news?”

Swallowing, Harry says, “The good news.”

“Well,” Leigh-Anne says. “There's no need to speed, because we are all definitely going to be late to school regardless.”

Liam nearly chokes.

-

“Liam, I can drop you off at East Dillon. It's fine,” Harry says for maybe the third time.

Fingers still drumming a nervous beat against the passenger side door, Liam says, also for the third time, “Harry, it's twenty minutes out of your way. You'll miss half the morning.”

Eyes cutting towards Liam for a second, Harry says, “I can afford to miss a little school. How do you think your mom is going to react if you don't show up?”

“Oh, god.” Hunching forward, Liam hides his face in his hands. “Harry, she's going to kill me.”

“I will help you come up with a plausible lie,” Harry says. “But first we need to stop at my house to shower. It's going to be impossible explaining away the dirt.”

Liam looks down at his mud encrusted fingernails. He can't disagree with that.

It's different stripping off in Harry's fancy bathroom when a shift isn't bearing down at him, and Liam can't decide how he feels about scrubbing his scalp with Harry's shampoo.

He's equally as conflicted when he pulls on Harry's clothes – a pair of jeans and a clean shirt that fit okay, but smell like Harry's laundry detergent. Harry's eyes darken noticeably when Liam steps out of the bathroom, toweling off his damp hair, but he just presses his lips together.

“If we hurry, you'll only miss first period,” he says, ushering Liam towards his truck.

-

Liam makes it to school halfway through second period in the end, and by lunch he's flagging. After his first shift, he slept the rest of the day (well, after getting an earful from his mom), but there's no time at all to nap between his classes and the game.

He's running on fumes by the time he's lacing up his cleats, but the adrenaline kicks in the moment he steps onto the field, the grass a bright green beneath the lights, the paint lines a sharp, crisp white.

Liam's Lions eke out an ugly win against Arnett Mead, but Liam doesn't shift on the field and holds himself in check the whole game, which feels like more of a victory.

No, it's the post-game adrenaline crash that leaves him feeling hollowed out with loss. The exhaustion hits him hard, but it's nothing compared to the feeling when Niall slips out of the locker room for the second game in a row without so much as a glance towards Liam. He had no idea Niall could hold a grudge like this, but then again, Liam's never given him a reason to before. The rest of his teammates are smart enough to leave the topic alone – even Samuels keeps his opinion to himself, which is something of a miracle – but Liam still dresses in a hurry, ready to leave their judgmental eyes behind.

He makes it to the parking lot just in time to see Jade climb into the passenger seat of Niall's jeep. There was a time it would've made Liam's vision go red, the clawing jealousy and hurt of his friends having fun without him, but Liam just feels tired.

Pulling out his keys, he folds himself into his truck. He should go home, get some sleep.

Instead, he takes the now-familiar route to Harry's house.

-

Harry's bright smile falls when he takes in the look on Liam's face. “Are you ever going to show up on my doorstep in a good mood?” he asks, stepping aside to let Liam in.

“Sorry,” Liam says. “I just, I need your help. I don't know what to do.”

Shutting the door behind them, Harry asks, “Did you maim or kill anyone?”

Liam starts. “No, of course not.”

“Good,” Harry says. “Then it's probably fixable. C'mon, I'll get you something to drink.”

A careful sniff tells Liam that for once, Harry's pack isn't hanging around. He's quiet as Harry pours them each a glass of ice water. Harry actually offers him a lemon slice and Liam shakes his head, not quite sure what to do with Harry's over-the-top hospitality.

In the end, he nervously chugs down half his water before Harry gently touches his fingertips to Liam's wrist. “Tell me what's on your mind, then,” he says, but it's soft, more a suggestion than a command.

Liam lets out a heavy breath. “I want to tell my friends.”

Harry falls silent, lips pursed. “Those two you always hang around?” he asks at last.

With a nod, Liam says, “Yeah. Leigh-Anne knows, and she's human. Niall and Jade, they're – they're my pack. They deserve to know.”

Slowly, Harry takes a sip of water, watching Liam over the rim. “How do you think it'll go? Telling them, I mean.”

Shrugging one shoulder, Liam admits, “I don't know. I don't think they'll believe me. I mean, I didn't believe you at first, and it was _happening_ to me.” He traces his fingers over the condensation on his glass, drawing random patterns. “Actually,” he adds, not meeting Harry's eye, “Well, I have an idea, but I – I need your help.”

When he finally looks up, Harry's watching him intently.

Liam licks his lips. “I want to, like – you said it's possible, to shift when it's not the full moon. Is that something you can do on purpose?”

It's evident from the look on Harry's face he knows exactly what Liam's planning. “Yes,” he says. “But are you sure… I mean, do you really think that will go over well? It's one thing, knowing someone's a wolf. It's another, seeing it with your own eyes.”

“They're my pack,” Liam repeats, more firmly this time. “I want them to see what I am. Please, Harry,” he adds. “I can’t lose them.”

Harry's quiet again. Finally, he wraps his fingers around Liam's wrist, squeezing gently. “Go home,” he says. “Get some rest. We'll start tomorrow.”

-

Liam sleeps until 2pm, then has to spend the next hour reassuring his mom that he's fine, everything's fine, he just slept so late because he was up early the day before studying, can he please just go out with his friends for a bit? He's still on thin ice and doesn't mention Harry by name, which is probably the only reason he gets her blessing - “But you better be back by curfew, or you will be grounded for the next _month_ , Liam, do you hear me?”

He reports to his first lesson at Harry's late in the afternoon, and has to swallow his surprise that Perrie's there as well.

Reading him like a book, Harry grins. “Perrie has the best control of any of us. You want to learn how to shift at will, she's your gal.”

With a wink, Perrie shimmies out of her dress right there in the middle of Harry's massive backyard. There's a privacy fence surrounding it, but _still_.

“Um,” Liam says, averting his gaze. “What--”

“You're really going to have to get over your modesty, sweetheart,” Perrie tells him, stripping off the rest of the way. “I'm not shredding my favorite bra because you can't handle a pair of tits.”

Liam chokes, and Perrie hoots out a laugh. There's a sudden wet, squelching sort of crunch that Liam vaguely recognizes from other shifts, and then a cold nose presses against his palm.

“Oh,” Liam says, looking down at where the wolf – Perrie – is snuffling into his hand. Dropping down to his knees, Liam tentatively rubs his hand over her head, scratching her behind the ears. “You already – wow.”

Panting happily, Perrie presses into Liam's touch, tongue lolling as he digs his fingers in. Her thick fur is tinged a darker gray on top, her belly and legs a soft white, but her eyes are the same glittering blue as when she's human. Tail wagging, she finally darts away, out of Liam's reach.

Eyes on Liam, Perrie crouches down on all fours, nosing at the ground. She stills suddenly, and with another wet crunch, she shifts back. It's over in a heartbeat and Liam's brain can't quite process it, the unnatural fold of her limbs, the retreating fur and misshapen lumps that somehow have turned back into a human body.

Perrie's breathing a little hard as she lifts her head, stretched out on her stomach in the grass. “So,” she says, propping herself up on her elbows. “Questions?”

Liam sits back on his haunches. “I don't even know where to start.” He thinks about it, and then asks, “Does it hurt every time?”

Settling in the grass next to him, Harry says, “Yeah, but it gets easier the more you do it. Sorta like ripping off a band-aid, you know? It hurts for a second, but as soon as the shift is over, the pain just fades instantly.”

“Once you go into a shift, your body just kind of instinctively takes over,” Perrie adds. “It's unnatural, being between states, so once you trigger it, it goes quick.”

“How do you trigger it, then?”

“That's the million dollar question, isn't it?” Sitting up, Perrie says, “Harry, toss me my dress, would you? I don't want to give Liam a heart attack before we even get started.”

“Ha, ha,” Liam says, but looks away respectfully all the same as Perrie gets dressed again.

-

Wolf lessons, as Harry dubs them, are awfully similar to a meditation class Coach made them take once. Harry's very insistent that Liam needs to get his breathing right, or it won't work at all.

“See how Perrie's doing it?” he asks, gesturing towards where Perrie is sitting cross-legged, holding out both hands palm-up.

“Omm,” Perrie intones, and Liam snorts.

Harry taps Liam beneath the chin until Liam straightens up. He pushes Liam's shoulders back, his fingers sure and steady, bleeding heat through Liam's thin t-shirt.

When Harry places one palm flat against Liam's chest, dead center over his sternum, Liam swallows thickly. “In and out,” Harry coaches him, demonstrating with his own breathing. “In and out.”

It's hard to concentrate on anything that isn't Harry's hand, his scent thick but somehow not overwhelming, despite his proximity.

“Do you know why getting your breathing right is so important?” Harry asks.

“Um,” Liam says.

“Shh, no talking. You'll mess up your rhythm.”

If Liam's eyes were open, he'd roll them.

“Just listen, okay,” Harry continues. “It's easy to wolf out when you feel scared or angry, because the wolf's instinct is to protect you. If you let the wolf take over when you're in that state, though, it's hard to come back to yourself. The key is _balance_ , Liam. If you're in a calm state when you shift, it's easier to keep your sense of self, which you need to trigger the transition back.”

Liam frowns, cracking open his eyes. “How's that work on the full moon, then? I wasn't exactly feeling calm.”

“The moon takes away your choice, the sun takes away the wolf's,” Perrie says. “No one really knows why. It's just how it is.”

“Well, actually,” Harry says. “There's something to be said about the moon's influence on the tides, and—hey!” The rest of his protest is muffled as Perrie tackles him to the grass, sitting on his back so his face winds up smushed into the dirt.

“Harry thinks he's enlightened, but he's actually just an idiot,” Perrie says.

“This is no way to treat your alpha,” Harry manages, the words coming out slightly muffled.

“Alpha?” Liam repeats. Perrie just shifts her weight, pressing Harry's face harder into the ground.

“Liam, help me.” The look Harry shoots him is equal parts beseeching and squashed. His face is remarkably rubbery.

“You're supposed to be helping _me_ ,” Liam reminds them. “So far all you've taught me to do is breathe, which, for the record, I already knew how to do.”

Perrie laughs, loud and cackling. “Oh, so he _does_ have some bark to back up his bite.”

Flailing his arms a bit, Harry finally manages to push himself off the ground, sending Perrie tumbling off of him. She doesn't seem to mind, lying back on the grass, one hand propped behind her head.

“Anybody can breathe. We taught you to breathe with _intention_.” Sitting up fully, Harry studies Liam for a moment. Then he pounces, quicker than Perrie had, and Liam finds himself flat on his back, the air knocked from his lungs. Harry grins down at him, pressing Liam into the dirt, and Liam flexes against his hold.

“You feel it, don't you?” Harry asks. “Your wolf. It wants out.”

Liam breathes in sharply through his nose.

“Remember how it feels,” Harry tells him in that same low tone. “Remember this connection. And when you're breathing – with _intention_ – make it again. Find your inner wolf when you're calm, learn how to reach out to it. That's how you shift.”

“Damn, Styles,” Perrie hoots. “Get a room.”

Harry rolls off Liam, and Liam releases the breath he'd been holding.

“Fuck off, Edwards,” Harry says cheerfully. “We both know you'd rather watch.”

“Oh my god, I'm going home.” Liam pushes to his feet as they both laugh. It makes Liam's heart twinge, and he doesn't know if it's because it should be Niall and Jade laughing with him, or how natural it feels, hanging out with Harry and Perrie.

-

All week long, Liam practices his breathing. He pushes himself hard at practice, until he can feel the spot inside his chest the wolf has carved out, the wildness that threatens to take over, to make him lose control.

Liam works the closing shifts at Rigg’s, until the stench of frying food permeates his pores and makes him nauseous. When he gets home, exhaustion hanging from him like a second skin, he turns the shower as hot as it will go and lets the scalding water wash away the stress of the day.

Pulling on a pair of boxers, Liam sits cross-legged in his bed, eyes closed and breathing deep. He does what Harry told him and finds the wolf again, this time curled up and harmless instead of threatening, its hackles no longer raised, ready to snap.

By Friday, he's so in tune with his wolf that he barely even flinches when Samuels gets in his face on the bus ride to Fort Hood. Liam can feel Niall's eyes on him when he brushes Samuels off, taking a seat near the front of the bus.

The Lions end the night with a four and one record, and for the first time all season, Liam remembers every second of it. His parents beam at him from the stands, loyal attendees even at away games, and somewhere in the crowd, rumor has it a few scouts are watching.

Liam breathes deep, but he doesn't catch the scent of wolf. It's weird how lonely it makes him feel.

After the game, Liam focuses on getting dressed and back to the bus as quickly as possible. He tries to ignore the way Niall laughs and jokes with Clifford and his crew, but even without heightened hearing they're loud.

Forehead pressed to the glass, Liam closes his eyes. He can't shake the image from his head of his hand wrapped around Niall's throat.

He deserves the cold shoulder Niall's been giving him. And as soon as he learns enough control, he's going to set it right.

-

Between football, work, and wolf business, Liam's fallen steadily behind on his homework. Still, when Saturday rolls around, he makes a quick escape to Harry's, throwing a _love you mom, be home by curfew_ over his shoulder on his way out the door. He'll have all day Sunday to tackle his Physics homework, and besides, the sooner he can earn Niall and Jade's forgiveness, the sooner he'll get his tutor back.

(Well, to be fair, all Liam wants to do is hang out in Niall's room again and listen to his and Jade's familiar bickering, but if Jade knew the state of his grades, she'd give him a bigger earful than his mom would.)

When Harry lets him in, Perrie's there again, although the rest of the pack is nowhere to be seen.

“Distracting Louis,” Perrie explains, applying mascara in the reflection of Harry's shiny silver toaster while Harry, ever the polite host, gets them all drinks. “It's nothing personal, sweetheart, he just thinks you're replacing Z--”

“Perrie,” Harry interrupts, sliding Liam a sweating coke can. “We're practicing shifting today. What's with the makeup?”

Batting her eyes at Harry, Perrie purses her lips, smacking them loudly. “One, don't like your tone. Two, Jesy and I have been trying to figure out if there are any brands of waterproof mascara that are also wolf proof. Just once I'd like to be able to shift without having to redo all my make up, you know?”

Harry shakes his head, but looks fond all the same. “Of course. May as well do some science while we're at it. So.” He turns to Liam. “You ready?”

Liam nods. “I'm ready.”

-

This time, they pile into Harry’s truck and return to the field where Harry's pack ran the last full moon.

“A precaution,” Harry explains. “If you get spooked, the last thing we need is for you to run the streets of East Dillon, causing an uproar.”

Liam frowns. “Do you think I'm going to get spooked?”

Harry shoots him an easy grin, pulling into the gravel drive. “No, but you can never be too careful. Isn't that right, Perrie?”

“Aye-aye, Captain.” Perrie gives him a mock salute. In addition to the mascara, she's lined her eyes heavily in black, symmetrical swooping lines on either side of them just like Jade's. She's got lipstick on too, a bold purple that reminds Liam of plums. When she catches Liam staring, she snaps her teeth at him.

“You remind me of my friend,” Liam tells her.

Perrie cocks her head. “The little blonde one with twig legs?”

“Twig legs? What – no, no, not Niall. My other friend, Jade. I don't think you've met.”

The truck rolls to a stop and Harry kills the engine, but leaves the keys in the ignition. With a shrug, he says, “Not like I have anywhere better to put them.”

Climbing out of the back, Perrie says, “Tell me more about this Jade. She a cheerleader?” Perrie shakes invisible pom-poms, jutting her hips dramatically from side to side.

Liam shakes his head. “God, no. She can't stand cheerleaders, or football for that matter. I think she spends most games reading, actually.”

“So she's a nerd,” Perrie says.

“No, I mean, not exactly, she's--”

“If we could focus, please,” Harry interrupts, sliding his arms around both Liam's and Perrie's shoulders and steering them further into the field where the trees will hide them from view of the road. “Time is limited, since _some_ of us have curfews...”

“Okay, just because your mom lets you run wild,” Liam starts, and Harry laughs.

“I'm kidding, Liam.” He pulls his shirt over his head, going for his jeans next. “What?” he asks when Liam stares at him. “Liam. You've got to get over this modesty thing.”

“Yeah, Liam,” Perrie adds, and Liam catches a faceful of fabric as she whips her shirt at him. “We're all pack here, aren't we?”

 _Are we?_ Liam almost asks, but he's a little too afraid of the answer. Instead, he tugs off his own shirt without making eye contact with anyone. “Intentional breathing is different from naked breathing,” he mutters, quickly sliding his jeans down his legs.

“Connect with your wolf,” Harry advises, settling onto his haunches. “Put it out of your mind.”

Closing his eyes, Liam rids himself of his boxers and kneels down, focusing on his breathing. He finds his wolf easily.

“Good,” Harry says. “That's good, Liam. You found it? Now just… relinquish your control. Give it over to your wolf. It knows what to do.”

Squeezing his eyes shut tighter, Liam lets go. The pain hits him immediately, like lightning sparks running through his veins, and his eyes fly open as he gasps, falling to his elbows. His muscles lock with tension, fighting the way his body is trying to tear itself apart, and it’s not until Harry’s warm palm slides over the bare skin of his back that Liam relaxes, sagging onto the ground.

“What happened?” he pants, his voice coming out rough and gravely.

“You panicked,” Harry says, and Liam can’t help leaning into his touch as he rubs his hand up and down Liam’s spine.

He shudders. “It hurt.”

“Like ripping off a band-aid,” Harry reminds him. “It’ll only hurt more if you resist. You have to breathe, Liam, and push through it until it’s second nature.”

Nodding, Liam pushes himself back up to his hands and knees. “I can do it.”

Ten seconds later, he’s sprawled on the ground again, breathing raggedly.

“Maybe we should stop,” Perrie suggests, her voice coming from somewhere behind Liam. His face burns.

“No,” he growls. “I can _do_ this.”

“Sit up, Liam,” Harry says, ignoring both of their comments.

Slowly, Liam pushes up onto his hands, straightening his spine until he’s eye to eye with Harry, kneeling in the grass. He’s shaking a little, his skin covered in sweat already, but he’s not ready to quit yet.

Harry places his hand on Liam’s shoulder, sliding it around until he’s cupping the back of Liam’s neck. “You need to trust your wolf, Liam. You need to trust _me_.”

“I do,” Liam says, realizing the words are true as soon as he says them. “I do trust you.”

Harry’s grip tightens on his neck until his nails dig into Liam’s skin. “Shift,” he orders in that voice Liam can never ignore. Liam takes a deep breath in and finds his wolf waiting for him. He breathes out, and rips off the band-aid.

-

The shift back leaves Liam panting and sweaty, sprawled out on his back. Overhead, the sky is already streaked with the pinks and golds of sunset.

“I feel like I’ve been hit with a truck,” Liam croaks.

“You look alright to me,” Harry says, grinning down at him. He pats at Liam’s stomach. “Good boy.”

Liam snaps his teeth, and Harry lets out a bark of laughter, dropping down so he’s lying half over Liam. He tucks his face into Liam’s neck, breathing deep, and Liam stills despite the adrenaline racing through his veins.

The snap of a stick catches his attention, and he looks up to see an amused, half-dressed Perrie standing over them. It occurs to him that he’s still very much naked, even if Harry’s covering most of his body.

“If this was meant to be a romantic getaway, you shouldn’t have brought a third wheel,” Perrie says, nudging Liam’s side with her bare toes. “C’mon, get up.”

Harry just snuggles more aggressively into Liam, which is going to become a problem in about five seconds if his thigh slides any closer to Liam’s crotch. “What, I can’t even scent a pack member?” he mumbles.

Perrie snorts. “There’s scenting, and then there’s foreplay.”

Liam hopes his face isn’t as red as it feels. “Um, what’s scenting?”

Harry finally rolls off him, and Liam quickly sits up, hunching over. He’s beyond grateful when Perrie tosses him his shirt, and it’s not until he’s pulled it over his head that he realizes it’s actually Harry’s. It’d be weirder to take it off halfway through getting dressed, he tells himself, and when he shoots Harry a look after he’s gotten it on, Harry’s eyes are dark.

“Scenting’s a wolf thing,” he says, licking his lips.

“Great explanation, H. I don’t think Liam would’ve figured that one out on his own.” Rolling her eyes, Perrie turns towards the truck. “Let’s go! I’ve got plans, and Jesy is not a patient woman.”

Liam pulls on his boxers before accepting the hand Harry offers to pull him to his feet. He clears his throat. “We should, uh. Probably listen to Perrie.”

Harry holds onto Liam’s fingers a beat too long before dropping his hand. “Yeah, yeah. She’s right. We should get going.”

-

The adrenaline hasn't ebbed by the time Harry pulls into his driveway, and Liam follows after him into the house, still buzzing.

“What do you want to eat, then? I think we have some leftover chicken in the fridge, or I could heat up a frozen pizza...”

Perrie's already busy studying her reflection in the hallway peer, poking and prodding at her face. “Well, the mascara held up. This lipstick on the other hand. Ugh.”

“You still look nice,” Harry says diplomatically.

Perrie gives him a look that could freeze the sun. “It's not about _looking nice_ , Harold.”

Harry sighs. “Do you want dinner or not?”

“I'm not hungry,” Liam interjects before Perrie can murder Harry with her eyes. “I'm too, like, amped to eat.”

Harry grins. “How 'bout a jog then?”

“Ugh,” Perrie says again, flopping down onto Harry's couch with enough force to make the cushions groan. “Where is Jesy? Even hearing you guys talk about jogging makes me want to cry.”

“Are you… are you being serious right now?” Liam asks, genuinely unsure.

“As a heart attack. I hate running. I would rather _die_.” Pulling her phone out, she adds, “You two go on. God knows you’ve been looking for an excuse to ditch me.”

Harry shrugs, a sheepish grin on his face like he’s been caught out.

Liam can’t help grinning back. “Yeah, alright.”

-

In addition to Harry’s shirt, Liam finds himself in a pair of Harry’s shorts, stretching his sore muscles before they start their run. Harry leads the way, because as much time as Liam's spent here recently, he still doesn't know the neighborhood that well. Liam follows after Harry, the soles of his tennis shoes slapping against the pavement. They don't talk, but Harry shoots Liam a dimpled smile before he picks up the pace, challenging Liam.

They end up running at a fast clip, faster than Liam normally runs, fast enough that his lungs burn and his muscles protest, chasing Harry's heels all the while. They run fast enough that Liam feels alive, like he’s been asleep his whole life until this moment.

He follows Harry blindly, a half-step behind even though they’re evenly matched, and it's Liam who slows first, but not because he's tired. He's breathing hard, but the adrenaline is still pumping, driving him forward. No, it's the scenery that's pulled him up short, slowed his feet to a stop.

Harry's half a dozen yards ahead when he realizes, and he circles back, red-faced and panting. “What's wrong?” he asks, face twisted in concern.

Liam shakes his head. “Nothing. It's just...” He runs his hands down his left side, over his lower back, but his fingers find nothing but smooth skin. Liam sucks in a deep breath. “It happened right here.”

They're halfway between Harry's house and Liam's, a stretch of road that mostly runs along underdeveloped land, thick with trees. A stretch of road that Liam hasn't touched since August.

“What happened?” Harry asks, but he doesn't look at Liam. His eyes are on the trees lining the road, the stars overhead, bouncing around anywhere that isn't Liam's face.

Liam scans the treeline, too, but he doesn't see anything unusual, anything out of the ordinary, other than the frantic pounding of his own heart. “This is where I got bit,” he says, barely more than a whisper.

Harry clears his throat. “Liam,” he says. “I...”

“I know,” Liam interrupts. “It wasn't you. I just… I've avoided this spot since that night, you know? This was my usual evening jog route, but I…” He laughs. “Thought it was a bad dream, the day after. I still remember the eyes, glowing through the trees, and I remember running...”

This time, it's Liam who can't meet Harry's eyes. Not that Harry's looking. “Wasn't fast enough, I guess. Seems stupid, now, thinking I could outrun it. Him? Her? I just remember how much it hurt, when it bit me. Felt like forever, and nothing, all at the same time.” Liam’s gaze goes unfocused, his tongue loose. “I ran straight home and hopped in the shower to wash the blood off. Didn’t even tell my parents. By the next morning, felt like it hadn't even happened. Just a bad dream, or something.”

The way Harry swallows is audible. “I'm sorry, Liam,” he says. “That shouldn't – it never should have happened to you, alright?”

“Can we go?” Liam asks. He doesn't want to talk about it, suddenly. Can't stand how small Harry's voice is.

“Yeah,” Harry says. “Let's go.”

-

They're quiet the rest of the run, and Harry doesn't set as grueling a pace on the way back. Liam's barely winded by the time they reach Harry's front porch.

Perrie's long gone, but the house isn't empty.

“Well, look what the dog dragged home,” says a girl with Harry's smile, lounging in Harry's kitchen like it belongs to her. “I don't think I've met this one before.”

Harry rolls his eyes. “Liam, this is my sister, Gemma. Gem, this is Liam.”

“It's, um, nice to meet you,” Liam says. He offers Gemma a hand to shake. Her grip is firm.

“Same,” she says, her eyes scrutinizing Liam’s face with a gaze as intense as Harry’s. Liam doesn’t know what she’s looking for, and can’t help glancing at Harry when she finally drops his hand.

“Great, well, now that introductions are out of the way, Liam'll be going,” Harry announces. “He's got a curfew, unfortunately.”

“Unfortunate, or convenient?” Gemma asks conversationally. When Harry doesn't immediately respond, she adds a little more sharply, “He smells like a _pup_ , little brother.”

“And he's a welcome member of my pack,” Harry says, his voice edging into the tone Liam can never ignore.

Gemma just laughs. “That doesn't work on me. You know better. Where's mom?”

Shoulders hunching in defeat, Harry mutters, “Robin's. Where else?”

Tapping her fingernails against the countertop, Gemma asks, “Does she know?”

“Nothing to know. I’m handling it. Would you excuse me for a sec? I’m going to walk Liam to his truck.” Slipping an arm around Liam’s shoulders, Harry steers him out of the kitchen and through the hall. He doesn’t stop until they reach the driveway, dropping his arm and running his fingers through his hair.

“Well,” Liam says at last. “That was--”

“Look, my sister means well, you know?” Harry turns towards him. “She also has a tendency to stick her nose in business that isn't hers. I'm sure she'll be heading back to school tomorrow. Don't worry about her.”

Liam chews on his bottom lip. “Is she, um. Part of your pack, too?”

Harry blows out a breath that clears the hair from his face. “Not exactly,” he answers. “It's – she's family, right, she'll always be family. But pack is more – like, your immediate pack members, I mean – it's like baby birds, right? Like, you fly the nest. You find your own pack. Gem's got hers in Austin, and I've got mine here.”

Liam thinks this over, leaning against the side of his truck. “And what happens when your pack members go off to college?”

With a heavy sigh, Harry props himself against the truck next to Liam. “Some stay. Some go. Take Jesy and Louis, for example. They both graduated last year, but Jesy's going to community college, so she's still around, and Louis – well, he's not going anywhere, I don't think.”

Shooting Liam a wide-eyed look, Harry tacks on, “I didn't mean, like. He's capable, obviously. He could do anything he wanted to, he just… he's happier here. Or he used to be, anyway.”

Liam studies his feet, digging the toe of his shoes into the cement. “What happened?”

“Some go,” Harry repeats. “One of ours, Zayn, he – art scholarship. Chicago. It wasn't a secret that he was gonna go, but Louis was convinced he was going to change his mind, right up until he didn't.”

“Does he… I mean, does he have a new pack then?”

Harry shrugs. “Wouldn't know. Haven't heard from him.”

Lifting his head, Liam turns to look at Harry. “You really don't know? He cut ties, just like that?”

“I mean.” Harry's gaze is fixed on his hands, picking at a hangnail. “It's a _bit_ more complicated. He--” Harry cuts himself off, swearing as he draws blood.

Liam grabs his hand. “You don't have to talk about it if you don't want to. I'm sorry, I really didn't mean to pry.”

Heaving out another sigh, Harry leans heavily into Liam's side. “It's fine. You were curious. God knows I'd be the same way, if I were in your shoes.” He doesn't pull his hand from Liam's loose grip; doesn't move at all, actually, except to tilt his chin up until he meets Liam's eye.

It's dark out, but not dark enough to miss the way Harry's gaze drops to Liam's mouth, just for a moment.

Liam licks his lip. “Harry,” he starts to say, but Harry's suddenly pulling free.

“Hey, listen, I should really get back inside, hang with Gem for a bit. I'll talk to you tomorrow, okay?”

“Okay,” Liam echoes. He stands there as Harry walks back inside, shutting the front door behind him with a quiet click.

-

Liam doesn’t hear from Harry the rest of the weekend, and by Monday he’s itching with a combination of nerves and impatience. He’s tired of eating lunch alone, tired of living a double life, tired of holding his wolf in check.

Liam’s tired of waiting.

He hasn’t exactly mastered shifting, but it’s been nearly a month now since Niall’s looked him in the eye, since Jade has spoken a word to him. With Harry’s help, Liam can manage the shift well enough. And if Harry doesn’t think he’s ready, or his sister convinces him that he’s wasting his time with a bitten wolf like Liam, well, then.

All the more reason for Liam to win his pack back.

It’s not hard to find Niall and Jade at lunch, sitting outside at a table in the shade. Even without wolf ears, Liam would be able to hear Niall’s loud, carrying laugh. Squaring his shoulders, he takes a deep breath and picks his way over.

Jade spots him first. She nudges her elbow into Niall’s side, clearing her throat, and Niall looks up, going slack-jawed for a moment. He catches himself quickly, snapping his mouth shut to finish chewing his bite of sandwich before swallowing, his Adam’s apple bobbing.

“Hi,” Liam says, shoving his hands into his pockets. “Um. Can I talk to you guys for a sec?”

Niall studies his sandwich, picking at the crust. “If you’ve come to apologize again, I really don’t want to hear it, unless you’re going to start with telling us the truth.”

“That’s what I wanted to talk to you about.” Liam rocks back onto his heels, biting his lip. He should have rehearsed this. “Listen, I want to tell you both everything, it’s just, it’s not a conversation I really want to have at school, okay?”

Niall’s gaze flicks up for a second, his expression guarded, and Jade touches her fingers to his wrist. “Where did you want to talk, then?” she asks diplomatically.

“Could we go for a drive? Friday, after the game? I want to—I mean, there’s something I want to show you.”

“Whatever,” Niall says, tearing off another bite of sandwich with his teeth.

“Friday it is,” Jade confirms, offering Liam a tiny smile. Liam smiles back, something like hope fluttering in his chest.

-

“Friday? Liam, you need more time to practice before Friday! Do you think your friends are going to be cool with watching you strip off and fall apart? Do you honestly think that’s going to go over well?”

Liam shifts his phone to the other ear, flipping through TV channels without registering what he’s seeing. “I can do it. You saw me do it.”

“One time,” Harry counters. “Barely two days ago. And that was with me and Perrie coaching you through it!”

“So coach me on Friday,” Liam says. He holds his breath, waiting for Harry’s response. There’s a reason he called Harry rather than showing up on his doorstep unannounced, and it only had a small amount to do with his curfew on school nights. This conversation is a lot easier to have when he can’t see Harry’s face, and second guess every flicker of his expression.

Harry lets out an audible sigh. “And how do you think that will go over, Liam? You don’t think their defenses will be up when you show up with a Panther?”

Turning the TV off, Liam lies back on his bed, staring up at the ceiling. “I’d be showing up with a wolf. Look, they’re pack to me, alright, same as you are. It’s important to me that you all get along, and this would be - it’d be ripping off the band aid. Surprise, I’m a werewolf, and so is Harry Styles.”

Harry’s quiet for a long moment. “Liam,” he says at last, “I don’t--”

“I’m tired, Harry,” Liam interrupts. “I’m tired of thinking, of over-analyzing everything, of - of constantly being on edge. Maybe it’s stupid, but this is how I want to do it. I didn’t choose any of this, you know? This is, like, the one thing I have control over.”

This time, Harry’s sigh is even louder. “You just had to go straight for the jugular, didn’t you? Fine. Friday night, after the game. I’ll meet you at our usual field.”

Liam grins. “Thank you.”

-

Somehow, the Lions manage a win, though Liam doesn’t remember a second of it. His palms are slick with sweat even after his post-game shower, and he has to remind himself to breathe as he slots the key into the ignition.

“You sure you’re good to drive?” Niall asks, sounding more concerned than anything else. “You seem… off.”

Liam shakes his head. “I’m okay. Just, um, a bit nervous.”

Niall eyes him over the top of Jade’s head as he buckles his seat belt. “What exactly are you going to show us, bro?”

Gripping the steering wheel with two hands, Liam eases the truck out of the parking lot. “You’ll see.”

-

Harry’s truck is already parked in the overgrown grass at the side of the road when they pull up. He’s leaning against the cab, long hair slicked back from his forehead and white t-shirt reflecting faintly in Liam’s headlights.

“Is that Harry Styles?” Jade asks with disbelief.

“The fuck is going on, Payno?” Niall doesn't sound happy, exactly, but the old nickname gives Liam a bit of hope.

“I promise, I’m going to explain everything. But right now, I need you both to trust me.”

Neither one says anything, but they both climb out of the truck, following after Liam, which seems like a good sign.

“Liam,” Harry greets, nodding at him. He tips his chin towards Niall and Jade, a friendly smile on his face. “Are formal introductions in order?”

“We know who you are,” Niall says, crossing his arms over his chest. “But an explanation of why the fuck we’re all out in the middle of Nowhere, Texas would be great.”

Harry’s smile thins. “What exactly did you fill them in on, Liam?”

Liam shifts his weight from one foot to the other. “I mean. I thought the plan was to show them?”

Pinching the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger, Harry closes his eyes. “So you didn’t tell them anything. Didn’t prep them at all?”

“Okay, time out,” Jade says, making a T-shape with her hands. “Enough of the code-speak, alright? Liam, you dragged us out here because you said you wanted to tell us the truth, and we held up our end of the deal. We’re here, we’re listening. So spit it out, or we’re leaving.”

Liam suddenly finds three pairs of eyes on him. Harry cocks an eyebrow, shrugging. Liam gets it. This is his show to run. His mess to fix.

He inhales deeply through his nose, slowly releasing it through his teeth. “Okay,” he says. “Okay, I know what I’m about to say is going to sound crazy. I want you to give me five--” he glances at Harry. “--ten. Ten minutes of zero judgment, alright? Ten minutes for me to give you an explanation, for me to show you what I mean, before you start asking questions or calling me a liar. Can you agree to that?”

Niall frowns. “Bro, you’re not, like, inspiring a lot of confidence here.”

“Ten minutes,” Liam repeats. “That’s all I’m asking for.”

Exchanging a glance with Jade, Niall finally nods. “Fine. Ten minutes.”

Liam wants to give himself as much time as possible to shift. “Okay, here’s the short version. The reason I’ve been acting so weird is because I got bit at the end of summer, and now I’m a werewolf.”

There’s a long pause, punctuated only by Jade’s sharp intake of breath.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Niall asks at last. “That’s your big reveal? Fuck o--”

“Ten minutes,” Liam reminds him. He tugs his shirt over his head, dropping it to the ground before going for the zipper of his jeans. He pauses. “Uh, sorry, this part might get a little weird.”

Niall lets out a wild sounding laugh. “Oh, this is the weird part, is it?”

“Liam, babe,” Jade starts to say in a careful, gentle voice. “What--”

This time, it’s Harry who cuts in. “You agreed to ten minutes,” he says, his fingers finding Liam’s skin, rubbing over his shoulder and down his back. “Think Liam’s still got eight before y’all try to commit him.”

Niall and Jade fall silent, but their expressions are both grim. Liam fumbles with the zipper, sliding his jeans down his legs with shaking hands. He leaves his boxers on, figuring it’s a casualty he can live with for the sake of modesty. Dropping to his knees, he takes a few deep breaths, finding his wolf. Harry’s fingers are still touching him, and he focuses on that feeling, the roughness of the pads of his fingertips, the way the connection between them makes the hair on the back of Liam’s neck stand up.

“Shift,” Harry whispers, barely audible.

Liam shifts.

-

He’s face down in the dirt when he shifts back, and he flinches when something hits his bare ass. It’s not until he lifts his head and glances back that he realizes someone’s tossed his jeans to him. Rolling over onto his back, he wrestles them back up his uncooperative jelly legs.

“Holy shit,” Niall says, sinking down onto the ground next to Liam. “You’re really a fucking werewolf. Like, for real.”

Jade manages to stay on her feet, mouth pursed thoughtfully. “Okay, I confess, I get why you didn’t tell us right away. It’s kind of a lot to process, isn’t it?”

Liam chokes out a laugh. “You have no idea.”

“A fucking _werewolf_ ,” Niall repeats, shaking his head.

“What I don’t get, though,” Jade continues, ignoring Niall completely, “is what Harry has to do with this.” Eyebrows furrowed, she looks at Harry. “He said he was bit. Did you bite him?”

“Jade, you can’t just— _ask_ that kind of question,” Liam says, pushing shakily to his feet. The shift has left his blood pumping and his muscles trembling. He didn’t realize how much he relied on Harry’s touch to settle him until he didn’t have it.

Jade looks distinctly unimpressed. “Forgive me, Liam. I’m not up to date on werewolf etiquette just yet, given that I’ve only known about their existence for twenty minutes. I’m just trying to figure out the connection here.”

Crossing his arm over his bare chest, Liam rubs at his bicep. He doesn’t know where his shirt ended up. “Harry didn’t bite me,” he says. “He’s just, like—he’s been a big help, teaching me stuff. Wolf stuff.”

“Listen,” Harry cuts in smoothly, stepping close enough to Liam’s side to slip his arm around Liam’s waist. Liam settles immediately, the tension easing from his muscles. Harry presses a bundle of material into Liam’s hands—his shirt, Liam realizes - and smiles his slow smile. “I think this conversation will take more time than we have right now. Why don’t y’all come over to my place tomorrow night, see if we can’t answer your questions? I’m having a little get together with the rest of my pack.”

“‘Pack?’” Jade repeats.

“Will there be beer?” Niall asks.

“We’ll be there,” Liam assures him, and Harry squeezes his hip.

-

Both Niall and Jade are visibly nervous as they pull up outside Harry's place, and Liam doesn't think it's because it's the size of all three of their houses combined.

“You guys sure you're cool with this? We can leave if you want,” Liam says. “I know it's, like, really weird, and I'm still getting used to it myself, but--”

“No,” Jade says, interrupting him. “We are fine with your werewolf-ism. Niall? Are we fine with Liam's werewolf-ism?”

“Yes,” Niall pipes up dutifully from the tiny backseat. He's folded in with his knees up to his chin, but when Jade calls shotgun, Jade gets shotgun. Niall wrinkles his nose. “It's more the fact that they're all Panthers that I have a problem with. Like, you couldn't pick some Lions werewolves to chill with?”

“There aren't any Lions werewolves,” Liam says. “And anyway, Harry's the only one on the team. Most of them have graduated already.”

Niall and Jade have taken the news remarkably in stride; at least, the werewolf portion. Niall’s even accepted Liam’s fiftieth apology. Neither one, however, is very keen to trust Harry just yet.

“Gents, are we going to sit in Liam's truck all night, or are we going to go to a BBQ like normal people?” Jade glances at Liam. “Wolves? Sorry, I don't know the proper terminology.”

“Neither do I,” Liam admits. “It's fine, yeah? I promise you, they're all super laid back. They won't be offended. And anyway, Leigh-Anne's human, so you guys won't be the only ones.”

“Well then,” Niall says, squaring his narrow shoulders. “What are we waiting for?”

-

Harry lets them all in with a gracious smile, and while it's not exactly tense as he leads them out onto the patio where the rest of the pack is, it is decidedly… awkward. There's a clear divide between Harry's wolves and Liam's people, and it feels very middle school dance, the boys and girls unsure of how to approach each other.

Then Perrie comes bounding over, as always an ambassador. “Hi!” she says, beaming at them. “You must be Liam's friends! We're so excited to finally meet you.”

She shakes Niall's hand with enthusiasm, but there's a definite shift when she takes Jade's. “Liam,” Perrie says loudly, holding Jade's eye with an unblinking stare. “You didn't tell me Jade was fucking gorgeous.”

“She's _Jade_ ,” Liam points out. “She's like, my sister.”

“Hi,” Jade says a little breathlessly, ignoring Liam completely and biting at her lower lip. Her lipstick is a dark red color that reminds Liam of blood. Perrie can't seem to tear her eyes away. She's still shaking Jade's hand.

“Can I get you a drink?” Perrie asks, leaning in close. Liam's still got werewolf hearing, so he catches Perrie's whispered, “Inside, where the good drinks are. I could give you a tour. Did you know Harry's got several guest bedrooms?”

With a loud giggle, Jade lets herself be lead inside. Perrie firmly shuts the sliding glass door behind them while Niall wanders closer to the grill, where Jesy is reigning over the flames with a pair of tongs.

“Is… is Jade going to be safe? Perrie looked like she wanted to eat her alive,” Liam whispers furiously into Harry's ear.

“Oh, I'm sure she will,” Harry says. At the look on Liam's face, he adds, “What? I meant, like, carnally, Liam. In the Biblical sense. She--”

Liam holds a hand up, cutting him off. “Yeah, okay, got it. That's more than enough.”

Harry's made a big enough deal about the whole _werewolves shall not bite_ thing, so Liam doesn't think he actually has to worry about Perrie turning Jade, or whatever. Still, he can't keep his gaze from wandering back to the sliding door until Harry slips his arm around Liam's shoulders and steers him towards a table loaded with enough food to feed an entire football team.

“Ribs'll be done in a minute,” Jesy announces, snapping her tongs at Niall. He takes a wary step back.

“Anyone want something to drink?” Harry cuts in smoothly. He's still got his arm around Liam, and he somehow makes it look natural, despite the fact that they're the same height and Liam refuses to hunch down to make it easier.

There's a cooler stocked with soda, and another with beer. Liam takes a cold can gratefully, hoping a drink or two will take the edge off. He gulps down about half of it before Jesy brings the ribs to the table, dripping with barbecue sauce. Liam's mouth waters.

Perrie and Jade don't resurface, but it's still crowded with the six of them squeezed in around the table. It's loud, too, but not overwhelmingly so. Liam can track the familiar cadence of everyone's individual voice, and there's something soothing about the way they ebb and flow, finding new rhythms that feel natural. Harry's wolves and Liam's people fit, and it settles over Liam like a warm blanket.

“Alright?” Harry asks at one point, pitching his voice low. He's sitting next to Liam, and his ankle keeps bumping Liam's in a way that seems deliberate. Liam doesn't move his foot away.

“Yeah,” he says. “Just, like. Taking it all in, you know?”

Harry grins at him. He's got barbecue sauce smeared on the corner of his mouth, and Liam has to physically stop himself from reaching out to wipe it away. His eyes must telegraph his move, because Harry's tongue darts out, licking at the spot.

Liam knocks back the rest of his beer.

Nodding at the empty can, Harry says, “Did you drink – you know, before?”

Liam doesn't have to ask before what. “Yeah,” he says slowly. “Why?”

“It might be, uh. Well, wolf metabolism makes it hard to get drunk.”

So much for taking the edge off.

“But!” Harry says, clearly reading the expression on Liam's face. “If you don't want to, like, drink an entire six pack in ten minutes, hard alcohol will do the trick. My parents won't care if I raid the liquor cabinet, so you know...”

Shaking his head, Liam says, “No, no, that's alright. I'm driving anyway, I just--” There's no good way to finish that sentence. Liam lets it hang between them.

Harry bumps his ankle into Liam's again, and this time keeps them pressed together. Leaning closer to Liam, he says, “Hey, at least Niall looks like he's having a good time.”

It's true. Louis' taken a shine to him the way he never did with Liam, if the laughter at the other end of the table is anything to go by. Liam tries not to let it bother him, shoving a handful of chips into his mouth so Harry can't expect a reply.

Jade and Perrie reappear around the time people start taking second helpings. Most of Jade’s lipstick has worn off and her hair is sticking out in odd places, like someone’s been running their fingers through it. Perrie looks equally debauched, grabbing two plates and loading them up with food before handing one to Jade.

“What?” Jade says, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear and smoothing it back.

Liam drops his gaze back to his own plate, biting back a smile. “Nothing.”

The more the alcohol flows, the louder the party gets. Jesy gets a fire started in Harry’s fire pit, threatening to light Niall and Louis on fire next if they don’t stop offering their unsolicited opinions, which just makes them both cackle.

Liam finds himself in a seat next to Harry, not quite touching, but close enough that Liam can feel the heat of him, even with the fire dancing at their feet. Across the flames, Niall’s got his head bent towards Louis and Leigh-Anne, gesturing wildly as he talks, and Jade and Perrie are curled close together, sitting on the ground with their legs tangled.

“So,” Harry says, voice pitched low so Liam has to strain to hear over the crackle of the fire and Louis’ sharp laugh. “I think this is going well.”

“I’m not sure I’ll be able to get my friends to leave,” Liam jokes, but his pulse spikes. It smells right, all of them together, blanketed by the smoky scent from the fire. Liam wants to bury his face in it, and settles for rubbing his palms over his jeans to keep himself from reaching for something else.

Harry laughs, low and throaty. “All a part of my master plan.”

Eyes on the mesmerizing flicker of flames, Liam slouches lower in his seat. His knee ends up bumping Harry’s, but he doesn’t bother moving it away. Harry shifts in his own chair, leaning to the side until his shoulder is pressed against Liam’s. Even through two layers of fabric, he’s warmer than the fire.

“Thanks,” Liam says quietly. “It really, like—you have no idea, what a weight off my shoulders it is. Having my friends know about me. Having them understand.”

Harry shrugs, the movement jostling Liam’s shoulder. “‘Course. I don’t like seeing you miserable, Liam. You know I’d do whatever I could to help. And it’s not like throwing a party is a hardship.”

“No,” Liam agrees, letting his head tip over onto Harry’s shoulder. “But still.”

Draping his arm over the back of Liam’s chair, Harry says, “Yeah. I hear you.”

A sudden hush falls over the party, Louis’ laugh cutting off abruptly, and even Harry stiffens. Breathing in sharply, Liam catches the scent of a wolf who doesn't quite smell like pack, and it makes the hair on the back of his neck stand up.

There's a dark figure standing at the far edge of Harry's patio, and as it slinks forward into the light, Liam's lips part in a question. It's answered before he can ask when Louis stands up, tension in every line of his body. He stalks forward to meet the figure head on, their silhouettes backed by the rippling water of Harry's pool.

“Zayn,” he says in a voice so cold the temperature might actually drop a few degrees. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

It's so quiet not even the crickets are chirping. Liam glances around, and everyone's eyes are on Louis and – the infamous Zayn, apparently.

“Not quite the welcoming homecoming I was expecting, bro,” Zayn finally answers. He doesn't look at his audience, his eyes only on Louis. His nostrils flare, and he cocks his head. “Guess I wasn’t quite as irreplaceable as you said.”

“Guess not,” Louis says.

Zayn stares at him. A muscle ticks in his jaw. “Is that really all you've got to say to me?”

Louis hisses out a breath between his teeth. “Fuck you.”

“Boys,” Jesy says mildly, but the way she’s also climbed to her feet, hands curled into loose fists, belies her easy tone. Neither one seems to hear her. Harry doesn't say anything at all, but his eyes are sharp. Watchful.

Zayn's as skinny as Louis is, but he doesn't have the same restless energy that makes Louis fill a room. He doesn't back down at Louis circles him, his chin held high, and he doesn't do more than make a surprised face when Louis suddenly pushes him, hard.

In what feels like slow motion, Zayn falls backwards, arms windmilling. Louis watches grimly as he hits the water with a loud splash, going under. He surfaces within seconds, shaking his head like a wet dog, water flying everywhere.

“What the fuck! Bro, you know I can't swim.”

“Then you're lucky I didn't push you into the deep end!” Louis shouts back.

Liam can't quite make out what happens next – one second Zayn is trying to climb out of the pool, waterlogged clothes dragging him down, and the next second Louis is toppling in with an even bigger splash than Zayn's. Liam thinks Zayn might've pulled Louis in, because they look like they're trying to drown each other.

Or... maybe they're kissing? Liam frowns. They’re locked together so tightly it’s hard to say what exactly is happening.

“Should you, um. Intervene?” he asks in a low voice.

Harry shakes his head. “Nope, I'm good.”

“But you're the alpha,” Liam points out. Harry hasn’t really elaborated on what that means, but Liam’s pretty sure stopping his pack members from killing each other falls under his job duties.

Harry makes no move to get up, even as Louis shoves Zayn’s head underwater. Zayn’s arms flail, but he manages to shake Louis off. “I'm also not suicidal.”

Liam gives him a look, and Harry sighs. “Stepping in would just delay the inevitable. Animal nature ain’t always pretty, but they need to get this out of their systems.”

“I thought you said Zayn cut ties.”

Harry laughs, but there’s no humor in it. “Oh no. When it comes to Zayn, it’s always more complicated than that.”

-

Liam’s curfew means they have to leave before Zayn and Louis quite finish, though they at least make it out of the pool into twin wet, panting heaps on opposite sides of the patio. Leigh-Anne kneels down next to Zayn, talking to him in a low voice while he glares daggers as Louis, who keeps shaking off an increasingly frustrated Jesy.

“They’ll be fine,” Harry assures Liam, who doesn’t quite believe him. “You should get home before you’re grounded again.”

The vibe in the truck is very different on the ride back to East Dillon than it was on the way to Harry’s. Niall and Jade keep talking over one another, filling the cab of the truck with noise, while Liam focuses on his breathing and the complicated tangle of scent permeating the air.

“--and _you_ ,” Jade says, turning towards Liam, who hastily tunes back into the conversation. “I know you’ve had to keep the whole wolf thing a secret, but there’s no excuse for not telling us about your big fat crush on Harry fucking Styles.”

Liam blinks in surprise. “What?”

“Seriously, bro,” Niall pipes up from the back. “You two couldn’t keep your eyes off of each other.”

“I—hey, now. Why aren’t we ribbing Jade? She literally couldn’t keep her _hands_ off Perrie! Perrie, who’s a _cheerleader_.”

“Whoa, hold up a second,” Jade says. “She’s a what now?”

“A cheerleader,” Liam repeats at the same time that Niall says, “Don’t change the fucking subject.”

“Niall’s right,” Jade decides hastily. “Let’s table the Perrie thing for a minute. I am much more interested in knowing how long you and Harry have been an item.”

Eyes on the road, Liam clears his throat. “We’re not. He’s just—look, he’s the alpha, alright, and I’m like his personal mission--”

“Uh, yeah. That’s what we’re saying, Liam.”

“Shut up,” Liam says, glad for the first time that he's the only one with wolf hearing. It means no one else can hear how loudly his heart is pounding against his chest.

**-**

On Wednesday, Harry comes into Rigg’s and orders a shake.

“They don't sell ice cream on your side of town?” Liam asks, punching in the employee discount.

Harry just smiles. “What are you doing Saturday night?”

“Um.” It's not a full moon, so the answer isn't running with Harry or the pack. “Nothing? Probably just hanging out with Niall and Jade like usual.” It hasn’t been usual in a while, and Liam’s been looking forward to it.

“Think your mom will let you out of the house? I was hoping maybe we could hang out. Just the two of us,” Harry says, handing Liam a few crisp bills from his wallet. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m glad our friends got to meet each other, but I’m kind of tired of sharing you.”

Liam carefully counts out Harry’s change, their fingers brushing as he hands it to him. “Sure,” he says, working hard to keep his tone casual. “More wolf lessons?”

“I had something else in mind,” Harry tells him, a dimple creasing his cheek.

“Saturday, then,” Liam agrees, pressing his lips together to keep from smiling.

**-**

“So, what are we doing tonight, then?” Liam asks as he climbs into Harry’s truck, buckling his seat belt.

“It’s a surprise,” Harry says, backing out of his driveway.

No matter how hard Liam pries, he can't get their destination out of Harry. Not that he has to try all that hard, because soon enough they're pulling up outside West Dillon's football stadium.

“Harry,” Liam says, a warning in his voice.

Harry shushes him. “Trust me, Liam. Have I steered you wrong yet?” He's out the door before Liam's even unbuckled his seat belt., leaving Liam to scramble after him.

“Harry, wait!” Liam calls. “What are – this is _trespassing_.”

Tossing a reckless grin over his shoulder, Harry climbs the fence surrounding the field, his laugh nearly drowned out by the rattling chain link. “Live a little, Liam!”

Liam only hesitates for a second. If the cops come, he can definitely outrun them. With that in mind, he chases after Harry, scaling the fence.

When he lands on the other side, Harry's standing in the middle of the dark field, hands propped on his hips. The overhead lights are off, but Liam can still see every detail, clear as day.

“There's nothing like it, is there?” he asks, his back towards Liam. “Nothing like that Friday night rush.”

“No,” Liam agrees, and even though this isn't his home field, even though the stands are empty and the lights are off, he feels the phantom echo of adrenaline, his nerves tingling with it. “Nothing even comes close.”

When Harry turns around, he's smiling wide. He's procured a football from somewhere—probably the truck - and he tosses it into the air. Arching a brow, he asks, “Wanna play?”

Liam gestures for Harry to throw it to him. He catches it easily, spinning it in his hands to line his fingers up with the lacing. “Go long,” he says, and Harry bolts towards the end zone.

He's fast, faster than any of Liam's players, and Liam releases the ball early, a tight spiral that hits the end zone the same time Harry does. Hands outstretched, Harry catches it, holding the ball to his chest as he dives to the ground.

“Touchdown!” he yells at the top of his lungs.

“Not bad,” Liam calls. “That was a decent catch. Think maybe your talents are wasted on defense.”

Harry rolls to his feet, ball tucked under one arm. “Just decent, huh?”

“I mean...” Liam trails off, shrugging. “Easy to catch, when you have a QB who knows where to throw it.”

Harry barks out a delighted laugh. “Well, _someone_ has a strong opinion of themselves.” He quickly snaps off a throw, but Liam's instincts were good even before he was bitten, and he catches it easily.

“How's your running game?” Harry calls.

“Better than yours,” Liam retorts, just to be contrary.

Even halfway across the field, Liam can see Harry's teeth gleam in a wide smile. “Bet you can't score on me.”

It's not a challenge Liam's prepared to back down from. Tucking the ball under his elbow, he charges towards the end zone. Harry starts gunning straight towards him, and Liam feints left, but Harry's instincts are better.

His shoulder crashes into Liam's, and Liam winds up on his back with a laughing Harry on top of him. The ball rolls free from his lax grip, but Harry makes no move to snatch it up.

“Why is it,” Harry asks conversationally, settling his weight firmly across Liam's hips, “that whenever we meet on a football field, you're always the one who winds up on his back?”

With no small effort, Liam bucks his hips. It sends Harry toppling over, and Liam quickly pins him down, one leg thrown over Harry's thighs and both wrists pressed to the grass on either side of his head.

“You were saying?” Liam says sweetly.

Harry wriggles underneath him, testing Liam's grip, but he doesn't fight all that hard to escape. This time, it's Liam who rubs his thumbs over Harry's wrists, feeling the wild thread of his pulse. Harry immediately goes boneless, all the tension in his muscles melting away.

“So it does go both ways,” Liam says.

“Liam.” Harry's eyes are half shut, and when he licks his lips, Liam can't help but drop his gaze to Harry's mouth.

He leans down, and Harry's eyes slip all the way closed. Still, Liam hesitates. “Is this a wolf thing?”

“It's a _you_ thing,” Harry growls. He tilts his chin up, and Liam's close enough that their mouths brush. Liam freezes, his heart hammering against his ribs.

“Do I have to spell it out for you?” Harry asks, the tendons in his wrists flexing in Liam's grip. “ _Kiss_ me.”

Releasing one of Harry’s wrists, Liam cups his cheek instead, his thumb tracing over Harry’s soft skin. He barely has to move to close the distance between them, his lips brushing against Harry’s with intention this time, the catch of their mouths making his stomach swoop.

Harry lets Liam set the pace, kissing him breathless in the middle of the field, licking into Liam’s mouth when he parts his lips with a sigh.  

“I’ve been thinking about kissing you since that day I talked to you on the bleachers,” Harry confesses when Liam pulls back to catch his breath. “But I wasn’t sure you’d ever want to kiss me back.”

“I think I would rather have killed you than kissed you back then,” Liam admits. He leans down to kiss Harry again, dizzy with the feeling, the hot slick slide of Harry’s mouth.

“But you don’t feel that way now,” Harry says, a little breathlessly.

“No,” Liam agrees. “I definitely choose this.”

Sliding his fingers into Liam’s hair, Harry pulls him down for another kiss.

-

Liam is on time to school Monday morning, which means he's there to hear his name being paged over the PA right before the bell for first period rings.

“ _Liam Payne, please report to the Assistant Principal's office. Liam Payne to the Assistant Principal's office._ ”

His heart rate triples instantly. The cops didn't catch them fucking around in West Dillon's stadium on Saturday night, sure, but that doesn't mean they didn't catch them on camera.

It's not a felony, Liam thinks, making his way to the Assistant Principal's office through a crowd of tittering classmates. Trespassing is probably a, what's it called, a misdemeanor. They can't arrest him, can they? He'll just get a ticket, and a fine he can't afford to pay, but there are like, payment plans.

His heart's still thudding dully against his rib cage when he reaches the office, sinking into an uncomfortable, hard-backed chair.

“Mr. Phillips will be right with you,” the receptionist tells him, and Liam swallows, giving her a quick nod.

It takes what amounts to an eternity – six minutes, if the clock on the wall is to be believed – before Mr. Phillips is ready for him.

“Mr. Payne,” he says when Liam shuffles inside. “Take a seat, take a seat.”

Liam takes a seat.

Peering at Liam over steepled fingers, Mr. Phillips says, “Do you know why you're here today, Mr. Payne?”

“Um,” Liam says. His mind flashes to Harry's smile, the way it felt when he pressed Liam against the grass. He shifts uncomfortably. “Not really, no.”

Mr. Phillips nods, like he expected this response. “Right. Now, normally, this would be a matter for your guidance counselor, but for an athlete – a student, I should say – of your caliber, Mr. Payne, well – I guess you could say I'm taking a personal interest.”

“Um,” Liam says again. “Sir?”

Pressing his lips together briefly, Mr. Phillips says, “Son, you're failing Physics. Now, you will have enough credits to graduate regardless, and it's not a required course, but--”

Liam sits up straight. “I can't play if I'm failing any classes. I'll be _benched_.”

Mr. Phillips nods. “And with the Lions doing so well this season – you boys are seven and one, that's nothing to scoff at – we can't afford to have our captain on the bench. Now, I've already spoken with your mother--”

“Oh, god,” Liam says, dropping his face in his hands. He'll never leave the house again.

“--and she's not okay with you dropping Physics and switching it to a study hall, which would take care of our little problem. We're too far along in the semester to switch you to a different class since we're nearly to midterms, but we can give you a grace period to bring your grades back up.”

“Yes,” Liam says immediately. “Yes, I will work so hard, sir, you won't even – I have a friend who can tutor me, okay, I can bring my grade back up, I swear--”

Mr. Phillips holds his hand up. “Good, good, that's what I was hoping to hear. Your teacher is giving you the next two weeks to complete any make-up work you’re missing, as well as some extra credit assignments. If you can get your grade up to a passing level by then, you'll be reinstated on the team, and eligible for the playoffs, assuming you boys make it that far.”

“We will,” Liam says with conviction.

“You were the right choice for captain, Mr. Payne. Never a doubt in my mind. So get studying, and we'll see what you've got against Laribee.”

Liam pauses, halfway to his feet. “Laribee? But Mr. Phillips, we play South Pine on Friday.”

Mr. Phillips holds out a peace sign. It's not until he says, “Two weeks,” that Liam realizes he meant the number. “That's your grace period. But right now, you're failing, Liam. You're sitting out Friday's game.”

-

It takes every ounce of control Liam has not to wolf out in the middle of the hallway.

“Fuck,” he hisses, ducking into the nearest bathroom. He splashes cold water on his face, breathing hard, and when he meets his reflection in the mirror, his eyes are gold. “FUCK.”

His wolf wants out; wants to rake its claws down the wall, wants to howl until its throat is raw. Closing his eyes, Liam breathes in and out. In and out. He finds a rhythm and clings to it.

When he blinks his eyes back open, the mirror shows that they're brown, plain brown.

Splashing more water on his face, this time to wash away the sweat, Liam rubs himself dry with a paper towel. He's missed almost all of first period – that certainly can't be helping his grade – and when he slips through the door just before the end of class, his teacher meets his gaze with a knowing look.

-

“Benched?” Jade repeats. “You're kidding. They actually _benched_ you?”

“No fucking way,” Niall says around a mouthful of sandwich. “They can't bench the captain. That's, like, unethical.”

Jade huffs. “Actually, it'd be unethical to break the rules just because Liam is captain. There's a reason players need to pass their classes. The actual point of high school is to get an education, believe it or not.”

Niall burps loudly and Jade wrinkles her nose. It's such a relief to have his friends back, to have everything nearly back to normal, that Liam almost doesn't even mind about the benching thing.

Almost, except for the part where it feels like his entire world is ending.

“It's just one game,” he says, a phrase he's practiced repeating since this morning. It's lunch time now, and it still doesn't feel right in his mouth. “And then I'll get my grades back up, and everything will be fine.”

Jade touches his wrist. “I'll help. We'll do some tutoring sessions after school, alright?”

Liam shoots her a grateful smile. “Thank you, seriously. You'll probably have to come over to mine, if that's alright. I don't think my mom's going to let me out of the house again.”

-

When Jade shows up to his house Tuesday night for Liam's first tutoring session, she has a purple lipstick smear on her neck.

“What's this?” Liam asks, thumb brushing the mark.

Darting away from him, Jade says, “Nothing! It's nothing.”

Liam just looks at her. “You know I can smell Perrie all over you, right?”

Primly, Jade unpacks her backpack, neatly laying her textbook and notebook side by side on Liam's desk. “Yes, well, someone of us didn't get themselves grounded, did they? Some of us aren't devoted to football, and have _free time_ after school--”

“Perrie has cheerleading practice. Doesn't she?”

Jade purses her lips. “Something more important came up.”

Shaking his head, Liam sits down on the edge of the bed. “I can’t believe you’re into a cheerleader. How many anti-cheerleader rants have I sat through, and now you’re willingly spending time with one?” It suddenly clicks. “Is that why she skipped practice? Are you pressuring her to quit the squad for moral reasons?”

Flipping open her textbook, Jade sniffs. “Please. Perrie can make her own choices. If she chooses to blow off practice to do something more fun, well…” She trails off, biting her lip and shrugging. “I can’t help that I’m more fun.”

“Oh my god, forget I said anything. I do not want to know what you and Perrie get up to behind closed doors.”

Laughing, Jade settles onto the bed next to Liam, placing the textbook between them. “Speaking of fun, how’s Harry?”

“Doesn’t matter, because I’ll be grounded until I’m 30 if I don’t pass Physics,” Liam points out meaningfully.

With an eyeroll, Jade says, “Yeah, yeah, fine. I can take a hint. Okay, let’s start with Chapter 3.”

-

Liam is technically benched for the game against South Pine, but he spends most of it wearing down a path on the grass behind the bench, pacing restlessly.

It doesn't help that the full moon is tomorrow night, and it hangs brightly in the sky, mocking Liam the entire game. He can't look at the scoreboard; can't seem to help himself from glancing over whenever a cheer goes up, watching the clock tick down and as East Dillon and South Pine trade off the lead.

A field goal with a minute left to play cements an East Dillon victory, and Liam sinks down to his knees, hands clasped in prayer.

“Oh, thank god. Thank _god_.”

He's praying for a different reason come Saturday. The fever's back, itching beneath his skin, though it's not nearly as bad as that first night.

At least, not yet. It's early yet, the sun just brushing the treetops. Liam excuses himself from the dinner table, taking his plate to the sink.

“I think I'm just gonna head upstairs,” he says, scraping his uneaten peas into the garbage. “Maybe do some studying.”

“Oh, Liam,” his mom says. “You've been working so hard this week. Why don't you take the night off?”

Liam turns around. “Really?”

“Yes, stay downstairs and watch a movie with your father and I. Geoff, tell Liam to stay and watch the movie with us.” His mom beams at him. “We're going to watch _Remember the Titans_.”

Liam's dad grunts. “Karen, he's eighteen. He doesn't want to watch a movie with us.”

Carefully, Liam lowers his plate into the sink, setting it down gently. “Mom, you know I love that movie, but I really think I need to study. Once I'm back on the team, yeah? Then I can watch a movie with you and dad.”

His mom's smile fades a little. “Well, if you're sure. I am proud of you, Liam.”

Liam swallows. “Thanks, Mom.”

-

Climbing out window feels like an old habit, but today it’s not Harry parked at the end of the street, engine idling.

“Damn,” Niall says as Liam climbs into the backseat of his jeep. “I really can’t believe you snuck out. That goes against, like, every moral fiber in your body.”

“Yeah, well,” Liam huffs. “It’s that, or tell my parents the truth. You think they’ll be as understanding as you and Jade?”

Jade turns around in her seat, making a face at Liam. “Yeah, probably not,” she agrees. “Do they suspect anything?”

Liam shakes his head. “No, I don’t think so. I mean, they’re worried about my grades and how stressed out I’ve been, but it’s not like werewolf is the obvious conclusion to jump to, you know?” He shudders as a wave of pain rolls over him, but it doesn’t feel like his insides are trying to become his outsides just yet.

“You okay?” Niall asks, catching Liam’s eye in the rear-view mirror.

“Still not really used to the whole full moon thing,” Liam admits. “It’s kinda hard to ignore.”

Pressing his foot down on the gas, Niall says, “Hold on tight, Cinderella. We’ll get you to the ball in time.”

Jade cocks her head. “I thought Cinderella had to _leave_ the ball on time?”

-

When Niall pulls into the gravel drive at the pack’s usual field, there are already a couple of trucks parked. The atmosphere when they pile out of the jeep is festive, and Harry’s wolves come bounding over.

“Jade!” Perrie says, darting in to press a kiss to Jade cheek. “I’m so happy you made it.”

Niall coughs loudly, and Jade neatly jabs her elbow into his side. Liam sniffs the air. It smells like smoke, and he spots the lick of flames just past a small grove of trees. “What's with the fire?”

“That, Liam,” Leigh-Anne says, slipping an arm around Liam's waist, “is for us humans. You think you wolves get to have all the fun? Oh no. It's going to be a _party_.”

Niall doesn't look convinced. “How do we know they aren't going to swarm us like wild animals and eat us alive?”

Jesy pinches Niall's cheek. “Niall,” she coos. “Don't you know that we're more afraid of you than you are of us?”

That sets Perrie and Louis off, cackling loudly, and Niall bats Jesy's hand away.

“Go easy on them!” Leigh-Anne orders, though she’s laughing a bit herself. “Please don’t scare away the only other humans who know about wolves and haven’t gone running for the hills already. I need company on full moon nights!”

“Aww, babe,” Jesy says, cuddling up to Leigh-Anne. Liam doesn’t hear whatever she says next, because he finally spots Harry squatting down near the fire pit, poking it with a stick.

“Hey,” he says, wandering closer. The sun’s behind the treeline now. It will be dark soon, but he barely feels the pain that licks over him.

“Hey,” Harry says, grinning up at him. He pushes to his feet, brushing the dirt off his jeans. “Alright?”

“Better now,” Liam decides, stepping into Harry’s space. He presses a quick kiss to Harry’s mouth, pulling away quickly. “Is this okay?”

Grabbing Liam by the collar, Harry hauls him back in for a kiss with more intent behind it. “Run with me tonight,” he whispers.

Liam can’t help the smile that pulls at his lips. “Is that a wolf thing?”

“It’s a wolf thing and a you thing,” Harry tells him. He’s still standing so close that he’s all Liam can smell. Liam gives into the urge to tuck his face into Harry’s neck and breathe deep.

“Get a fucking room!” Louis calls, that sharp, teasing tone to his voice Liam can never quite figure out.

Harry pulls back, huffing out a quiet laugh. “Fuck off, Lou,” he says, slipping his arm over Liam’s shoulder. Steering Liam back towards the pack, he asks, “Who’s ready for the full moon?”

-

Liam sneaks back in through the window just after dawn and crashes all day Sunday. He’s back to hitting the books after Monday’s practice, a Physics quiz midway through the week standing between him and being reinstated for Friday’s game, the second to last of the season.

Jade helps him make flashcards the night before the quiz, and his vision has gone a bit fuzzy reviewing them when he hears the tap at his window.

He shakes it off, refocusing on the cards, when it comes again, louder and more insistent.

“Liam,” a familiar voice says. “Liam, open the window.”

Jumping to his feet, Liam hurries to the window, ripping open the curtain. Harry grins at him through the glass, like it’s perfectly natural that he’s hanging outside Liam’s second story window.

Liam immediately eases the it open and Harry crawls through, pushing his hair back from his forehead as he straightens.

“What are you doing here?” Liam asks, though he can’t say he’s exactly disappointed.

Harry shrugs. “Went to get a shake from my favorite place, but my favorite employee wasn’t there.”

“I’ve been cutting back shifts to focus on my grades,” Liam explains as Harry wanders further into his room. He trails his fingers over the flashcards on Liam’s desk, raising his eyebrows.

“Aren’t you studious?”

“If I don’t get back on the team…”

Harry runs his fingers through his hair again, though it hasn’t fallen in his face since he last adjusted it fifteen seconds ago. “I know, sorry. I really didn’t come here to distract you.”

Liam purses his lips to keep from smiling. “Why did you come here?”

Catching his lower lip between his teeth, Harry bites down before releasing it. “Okay, maybe I came here to distract you. It’s just, do you have any idea how hard it is for me to stay away from you?”

Liam could hazard a guess, but still: “I need to get a B or better on my quiz tomorrow, or I can’t play on Friday.”

“I’ll help you study, then,” Harry says. At the look on Liam’s face, he adds, “Seriously, Liam. I’m not as smart as your Jade, but I do alright. I can help.”

It’s a terrible idea, but Liam doesn’t want to Harry to go just yet. “Okay,” he agrees. “We’ll go through the flashcards. If I can get those down, I should be alright tomorrow.”

They settle on Liam’s bed, Harry sitting cross-legged at the foot of it, flashcards in hand. “Do you want the words or the definitions?”

Liam grimaces. “Ah, better start with the definitions.”

“Okay,” Harry says, reading off the first card, “What’s ‘the force exerted on an object when it is in contact with another object as it moves or tries to move’?”

Liam stares at him. “You couldn’t have started with an easier one?”

Harry just taps the card, one eyebrow raised.

“Um, fine. It is… work?”

Harry shakes his head. “Friction.”

“Damn it, I knew that. I _knew_ that.”

Harry sets the card face down on the bed. “Okay, how about this one: ‘a force between two objects.’”

Liam sucks in a deep breath. “Probably not friction. Um. Oh, I know! Gravity.”

“Very good.” Harry sets the card down in a second pile, then leans forward, balancing on one hand as he stretches towards Liam until their mouths catch.

“Um,” Liam says, pulse suddenly kicking up.

Leaning back, Harry just says, “You get a reward for every right answer. Tell me, what’s ‘the force you exert on a machine’?”

“On a machine… um.” It takes Liam a moment to collect himself. “...input force?”

Harry grins and sets the card down in the ‘right’ pile before leaning forward again.

-

Liam gets the news Friday morning.

“I passed?” he asks, holding his returned quiz in his hands, not quite believing.

“You got eighty-five percent,” his Physics teacher confirms, clapping a hand onto Liam’s shoulder. “Good work, Payne. You’re back on the team.”

Liam laces up his cleats later that night with only one thing in mind: another Lions victory. Two more will clinch a playoff spot, and the kick of adrenaline that hits him as he steps out under the lights rivals the way he feels pre-shift.

Laribee doesn’t make it an easy contest. By halftime, Liam’s Lions are down seven points. It’s tense in the locker room, and Liam can’t still, leg jiggling violently as Coach gives a rousing speech.

Niall’s hand finds Liam’s knee, pressing down until he stills. “Breathe,” he reminds Liam, voice barely even a whisper. “Keep your head in the game.”

He’s right. Liam focuses on his breathing, his eyes closed. He makes an automatic connection with his wolf and feels a tightness in his chest. It wants out.

 _Not now_ , Liam thinks, shutting the mental door that leads to a shift. The wolf doesn’t fight him, and by the time the Panthers take the field again, he feels centered, focused.

It’s not enough. Every time Liam’s ready to snap off a throw, there’s a Laribee player already there, like they’ve read the Lions’ playbook ahead of time.

“Damn it,” Liam mutters as he throws an incomplete pass, barely avoiding getting sacked. A field goal in the fourth quarter puts a few more points on the board, but it’s all the offense they can muster up before the clock runs out.

It’s the kind of loss that leaves a sour taste in your mouth. One second, Liam’s staring at the scoreboard, trying to accept what he’s seeing, and the next, he’s on his knees, vision washed with red.

“No, no, no,” he chants, trying to pull himself back from the edge. It’s been so long, and he’s learned so much, and he can’t lose control now, not like this, not--

“Liam. Payno. Breathe for me, okay? Just like in the locker room. In and out, there you go, in and out.”

Liam latches onto Niall’s voice, the grounding feeling of his fingers digging into Liam’s shoulder. The red fades until Liam’s finally able to focus his vision on Niall’s face, folded with concern. “You okay?”

Shaking his head, Liam gulps down another lungful of air. “No, but I will be. Just give me a second.”

“Can you make it back to the locker room?” Niall pitches his voice lower. “People are watching. Don’t need to give them more reason to talk.”

Nodding quickly, Liam lets Niall pull him to his feet. “Thanks,” he mutters, walking close enough to Niall that their shoulders bump. It’s not quite as settling as Harry’s touch, but it grounds Liam all the same, enough that he can make it off the field, away from prying eyes.

“I asked Louis,” Niall confesses, just outside the door to the locker room. “About, like. Calming techniques. He said it’s all about the breathing. I, uh, get the sense you two aren’t exactly buddy/buddy, but--”

“No, that’s—I’m glad, that you asked. He’s right,” Liam says, nudging his shoulder against Niall’s. He hasn’t forgotten about the last time he lost control in front of Niall, and how much it nearly cost him. “I’ve been getting better, with Harry’s help, but that’s—thank you. Really.”

Niall smiles crookedly. “That’s what pack is about, right?”

-

The second Liam walks through the door, his dad wants to pick apart every play, while his mom frets about scouts that may have been watching.

“You still played well, Liam, even if you lost. Anyone could see that.”

“You think he’ll get recruited by a D1 school without a playoff run? The boy needs to focus, Karen, and I don’t mean on his grades.”

“Don’t be so hard on him, Geoff. He already cut back on work. Do you want to ground him again for losing?”

Liam clears his throat. “Listen, I’m pretty beat. I think I’m just gonna head on up to bed, alright?”

“Tomorrow,” his dad says. “We’ll get the tapes from the game, watch ‘em back. See if we can’t figure out where you went wrong.”

The red comes back, and Liam has to curl his hands into fists, squeezing until his nails bite into his palms to center himself, the scent of blood painting the back of his throat. “Sure thing, Dad.”

Liam takes the stairs one at a time, timing his breathing with each step. His emotions are still roiling by the time he makes it to his room, shutting his door and locking it. He kicks off his shoes and jeans before flopping face down on the mattress, head buried in his pillow.

He’s not sure how long he lies there before there’s a gentle rap at his window. Liam doesn’t lift his head, and there’s a creak and a rustle a moment later as the window’s eased open.

Harry’s familiar scent relaxes him almost immediately, calming the worst of his frayed nerves.

“Hey,” he says, the mattress dipping as he crawls onto Liam’s bed. “I heard about the game.”

Turning his face to the side, Liam heaves out a sigh. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

Harry nudges him. “You’re not out of the running yet. If you win next week, and Arnett Mead loses--”

“I know,” Liam says. “But I still just want to sulk about it right now.”

“Well, don’t let me stop you.” Harry pauses. “But, if you were interested in a distraction instead…” He cups Liam’s cheek with one hand, tilting his face up until their mouths are nearly brushing.

“My parents are downstairs,” Liam reminds him.

“Then you’re going to need to be very, very quiet.” Harry dips his head, his lips catching against Liam’s. The feel of his mouth is familiar now, and Liam rolls onto his back, fingers buried in Harry’s hair. Harry doesn’t stop kissing him, hitching one leg up so that he’s draped half over Liam, his weight warm and heavy.

The room is silent except for the slick, wet sounds of their mouths and the occasional creak of the mattress as one of them shifts. Downstairs, Liam can just barely hear the TV, some late night talk show with a canned laugh track.

When Harry slots their hips together, grinding deliberately before lifting them again, Liam has to choke back a whimper.

“Oh my god, Harry,” he gasps.

“Shh,” Harry says. He shifts his weight so that he’s straddled over Liam, knees bracketing Liam’s waist, and leans down until he’s braced on his elbows to find Liam’s mouth again, sucking on his bottom lip. He slips his tongue past Liam’s teeth at the same time he rolls his hips against Liam’s, swallowing the noise he makes.

“Are you distracted yet?” he whispers, lips brushing Liam’s with each word. Liam’s hands have found their way to Harry’s back, and he slides them lower, pulling Harry down against him as he drives his hips up, making him gasp.

“Not quite,” Liam pants. “Think you should keep going.”

Harry works a hand between them, tugging at Liam’s shirt until it gets stuck, rucked up under his armpits. It takes a bit of uncoordinated fumbling to get it over Liam’s head, and a moment later, Harry’s shirt joins his on the floor.

This time when Harry ducks back down to kiss him, they’re pressed skin to skin from shoulder to hip. Liam’s pulse kicks up and he slides his hands down Harry’s bare back, feeling the notches of his ribs, the dip of his waist, the flare of his hips.

“You’re not going to kick me out tonight?” Harry asks, nuzzling under Liam’s chin to mouth at his throat, sucking and biting at the tender skin.

“No,” Liam promises. “Don’t have to -- _ahh -_ \- don’t have to study, do I?”

“Good,” Harry says, and pops the button of Liam’s jeans. He sits up to pull them down Liam’s legs, tossing them onto the growing pile of clothes on the floor next to the bed before sliding his own off.

Their boxers join the pile next, and Liam drinks in the sight of Harry’s tan skin, greedy for it. “Christ,” he mutters, not sure where to touch Harry first. “You’re a lot, you know that?”

“You've seen me naked before,” Harry points out, and he sounds amused. “Like, a lot of times.”

“Yeah, but not like – wasn't a situation where I was going to get to touch you, was it?”

Leaning down, Harry presses his mouth to Liam’s pulse-point, teeth grazing gently. “I would have let you.”

“Call me old-fashioned,” Liam manages to get out, “but I don't like to get off with near strangers in the middle of the countryside.”

“Mmm,” Harry hums. “You're terribly old-fashioned. That's alright though, I think we can work with it.” He drags one hand down Liam’s chest, and when his fingers bump Liam’s dick, he hisses out a breath.

“Harry--”

“Shh,” Harry reminds him, face still buried in Liam’s neck as his fingers find a rhythm. His grip is too dry, the pace too slow, but Liam arches into his touch all the same, biting his lip hard enough to draw blood to keep quiet.

“Please,” he gasps, and Harry uncurls his fingers from around Liam’s dick. Liam nearly whimpers at the loss, and his eyes widen when Harry’s hand slides over Liam’s jaw instead, his damp palm pressed to Liam’s mouth.

“Lick it,” Harry tells him, and Liam obeys without thinking, getting Harry’s palm slick with spit. When Harry returns his hand to Liam’s dick, the slide is easier, and Liam bucks up into the circle of Harry’s fingers helplessly.

Harry kisses him again to catch the choked off noises Liam can’t seem to keep from escaping, and it doesn’t take long before Liam’s spilling over Harry’s fingers and his own stomach, coming with a bitten-off whimper. Hand wrapping around his own dick, Harry only takes another minute or two to come with a grunt, adding to the mess on Liam’s chest. He bites down hard on the juncture between Liam’s neck and shoulder as he does, chest heaving.

“Shit,” Liam pants, trying to catch his breath. “That was--”

“Liam?” They both freeze at the sound of Liam’s mom, just outside the door. She knocks tentatively against the wood. “Are you okay? I thought I heard a noise.”

Wide-eyed, Harry clamps a hand over his own mouth, looking like he’s trying to stifle a laugh.

Liam clears his throat, but he still sounds a little hoarse when he says, “Fine, mom. Everything’s fine.”

“Okay, hun. Just checking. Sweet dreams.”

“You too,” Liam manages as Harry collapses on top of him, shaking with silent laughter. The floorboards in the hall creak as Liam’s mom walks away, and it’s only then that Liam lets himself breathe again. “Oh my god.”

“That was close,” Harry whispers, still flushed and sweaty, lips red and swollen from kissing Liam.

“You’re a bad influence,” Liam tells him, but when Harry just smiles and leans down to slot their mouths together, Liam doesn’t push him away. Instead, he curls an arm around Harry, lets him pillow his head on Liam’s shoulder until his breathing evens out, slow and shallow with sleep.

Harry wakes up just before dawn, dressing in the semi-dark while Liam watches through half-lidded eyes. He presses one last kiss to Liam’s mouth before he turns to go, lips curved into a smile even though it’s way too early to be awake.

It’s not until Harry slips back out the window that Liam realizes he’s left his shirt behind, pulling on Liam’s by mistake. Liam scoops up Harry’s shirt, holding the material to his nose just to catch his scent one more time.

-

The Panthers are busy with their own playoff run, which means no late night visits from Harry in the week leading up to the final game of the season. It’s just as well, because Liam can’t think about anything else.

There’s a buzz in the air as Liam laces up his cleats Friday night. The Lions need a W to keep their playoff hopes alive, and for Arnett Mead to lose to secure their postseason spot.

Liam has no control over Arnett Mead’s game, so he channels his energy into the moment, focusing on the things he can. He breathes in and finds his wolf. Breathes out and harnesses the adrenaline.

“Boys,” he says, shoulder to shoulder with his teammates in the locker room. “Let’s make history tonight.”

The roar of the crowd when they take the field is deafening. Liam tunes it out, his mind on the game and nothing else. South Milbank, despite their losing record, doesn’t make it an easy competition. Their playoff run ended in early October, but the chance to spoil the Lions’ has renewed their fight.

By halftime, the score is still tied at zero. There’s no red flickering at the edge of Liam’s vision just yet, but he paces throughout Coach’s locker room pep talk, unable to sit still. Coach claps him on the shoulder just before they head back out, catching Liam’s eye. “Your head in the game, son?”

“Yes, sir,” Liam says, ready to get back out there an unleash his energy.

The second half is even grittier. South Milbank plays with everything they have left, fighting tooth and nail. It takes the Lions until the fourth quarter to put any points on the board, and even then it's only a field goal that nearly goes wide.

Somehow, they hold onto the lead by the skin of their teeth. When the clock finally runs out, the crowd is louder than Liam’s ever heard.

The celebration is short-lived, though. The Arnett Mead game is still going, and Liam waits on the field with the rest of the team as it’s broadcasted over the PA system. His nerves are shot to hell, fists clenching and unclenching, and Niall bumps their shoulders together, a silent reminder to breathe.

In and out. In and out. In and--

It doesn’t sink in, at first. Liam’s too focused on his breathing to register the words; not until Niall starts yelling in his ear, the crowd leaping to its feet with a roar.

“Fuck, yeah! _Fuck_ yeah! We’re headed to the playoffs, baby!”

Liam sinks to his knees, grinning so hard it hurts.

-

There's talk of a party at Clifford's, plans already underway to get a keg or two, but there's only one place Liam wants to be. As the guys start to trickle out of the locker room, Liam catches Niall's eye. _Going to Harry's_ he mouths, and Niall's answering eyeroll is both unsurprising and fond.

His mom won't be expecting him home for a while, which means Liam has all night to spend with Harry. He could probably even get away with staying over at Harry's, and nearly runs a red light the thought is so distracting.

His big plans are only slightly diminished when he pulls up out front and sees the cars packed into Harry's driveway. Climbing out of his truck and pocketing his keys, Liam makes his way to the front door. It's not surprising, now that he thinks on it, that the pack is over. The Lions aren't the only Dillon team that clinched a playoff spot tonight.

It's Louis who answers the door, the ice of his eyes only slightly melted. “Liam. Did you get lost on your way to a Lions party, or…?”

“Ha, ha,” Liam says, rocking back on his heels. “Where's Harry?”

With an eyeroll eerily similar to Niall's, Louis swings the door open wider, stepping aside to let Liam in. “He's out back with everyone else.”

“Great, thanks,” Liam says, already brushing past Louis.

“Wait.” It's not the word so much as the way Louis says it that has Liam pulling up short, turning back around.

“I'm not going anywhere, Louis,” Liam tells him evenly. “There's nothing you can say to chase me off.”

Louis swallows, his throat bobbing. “No, no, I – I know that. And that's why I wanted to say – look, I'm sorry, alright?”

Whatever Liam was expecting, it wasn't an apology. “What?”

Louis huffs, annoyed. “I'm only gonna say this once, so just listen, okay? I didn't get it, at first, what Harry saw in you. I thought he was just – making things right, or whatever. And it was shitty of me to be such a dick to you regardless, okay, I get that, especially since was my fault in the first place. So, like. I'm sorry. For all of it. And I'm gonna try to do better.” He blinks a few times. “Okay, end of speech. You can go find Harry now. That's all I wanted to say.”

But Liam doesn't move. “What's all your fault?”

“Well, technically it's Zayn's for leaving in the first place, otherwise I wouldn't have been so…” Louis trails off, looking more carefully at Liam’s face. “Wait. Did Harry not tell you?”

Louis is speaking in riddles just to fuck with him. Liam's nearly sure of it. “Tell me _what_? Louis, I have no fucking idea what you're talking about.”

“Oh shit,” Louis says, eyes going wide. “Shit, I thought you knew, I thought he told you, I – look, forget this conversation ever happened, okay? I'm just talking shit.”

Louis forces out an awkward, fake laugh, and Liam takes a step closer, hands curling into fists. “Louis. Tell me what the hell you're talking about.”

“Shit, shit, shit, _shit_. I am _sorry_ , okay, I thought you knew that it was me,” Louis' babbling now, the tough guy facade finally cracking. “I was pissed about Zayn leaving, just like, so out of control with it, and it was stupid, so fucking stupid, I never should have been – I didn't mean to, like, I barely even remember it happening until it was over with, and--”

It clicks, then. What Louis' confessing to. “You were the one,” Liam says slowly. “The one who bit me.”

“It was an accident,” Louis says, and he looks so small, his shoulders hunched in defeat. “Fuck, Liam. You've got to believe me. It was an accident.”

This time when Liam turns to go, Louis doesn't stop him. Liam doesn't remember the path he takes to Harry's patio. Time just flashes forward like a skip in a tape.

“Liam!” Harry crows when Liam steps outside. “I was just – shit, are you okay?”

“Can I talk to you?” Liam asks, and his voice comes out this strange croak that doesn’t sound like Liam at all.

Harry is immediately by his side, leading him back indoors. They don't stop at the kitchen table for a glass of ice water. Instead, Harry takes him up the stairs to his bedroom, shutting the door behind them.

“What's wrong?” he asks, reaching a hand out like he's going to touch Liam's cheek. Liam takes a sudden step back, and Harry lets his hand fall. “Liam?”

He can’t quite manage to look Harry in the eye, and settles for the spot on his cheek where his dimple would be, if he were smiling. “You knew. This whole time, you knew, and you didn't tell me.”

Harry's silence is louder than any confession. “Knew what?” he says after a moment, clearing his throat, and Liam's vision flashes red.

“Don't play dumb!” Liam snaps. “Don't – goddammit, Harry, don't patronize me like that.”

Lips pressed together in a thin line, Harry breathes in slowly through his nose. “Did Louis tell you?”

“Is that really what you’re worried about right now? Who told? Does it mat-- oh my god,” Liam says. He runs a shaking hand through his hair. “The whole pack knew, didn’t they? God, I can’t believe I’ve been so _stupid_ this whole time.”

“No, I promise, Liam,” Harry says, taking a step closer. “Only Louis and I knew, okay? And maybe I should’ve -- okay, I definitely should have told you the truth, but in the end, what difference would it have made? It's not like it could've been undone. What happened, happened.”

“Harry, this has _ruined my life,_ and you--” Harry reels back, as if Liam's actually slapped him.

“I thought you – I thought you were happy now, being part of the pack,” he says. He has the fucking – the _audacity_ to sound hurt.

“I was happy being normal!” Liam nearly explodes. “I was – fuck, Harry, this is not something I'd ever _choose_! It's something I've learned to cope with, yeah, but if I could go back and undo it all, I would. I'd undo it in a heartbeat.”

Harry licks his lips, swallows a few times. His face is unreadable now, expression completely closed off.

Taking several deep breaths, Liam focuses on centering himself, on staying in control. When he speaks again, his voice is somehow steady. “You lied to me, Harry. You knew this entire time, and you didn't say a word. You – fuck.” Liam exhales sharply. “That day you showed up at practice. You were looking for me, weren't you?”

Shoulders squared, Harry doesn't back down. “Louis didn't know who he bit, alright? He just remembered chasing someone wearing the color red. We figured it was probably a Lions player, so yeah, I went to your practice just to see if I could scent anyone.”

“So that's all this was,” Liam realizes, his chest clenching. “You were just – helping me out to fix Louis' mess, to cover his ass.”

“No! No, Liam, it wasn't like that--”

“Don't _lie_ to me!”

Harry falls silent for a long moment, a muscle ticking in his jaw. “I don’t know what you want me to say.”

“The truth would have been nice,” Liam tells him. The fight drains out of him suddenly, leaving him hollowed out. Empty. “But you’re about three months too late for that.”

“Liam, wait--” Harry grabs for his arm when Liam turns to leave, but Liam shakes him off. He makes it to his truck before his eyes start to sting, pulling out of Harry’s driveway with a squeal of tires.

The lights are still on by the time Liam makes it home, his parents up and celebrating the Lions victory. Liam turns off the headlights and ignition, sitting in his dark truck for a long time before his eyes are finally dry.

 

* * *

 

**[part three – postseason]**

One nice perk of a playoff run is that Liam is no longer grounded. His grades are up, his friends have forgiven him, and his parents are finally off his back.

Everything has fallen into place, except for the hollow cavity Harry’s clawed out in his chest that Liam doesn’t know how to fix.

He’s learned his lesson about keeping secrets, but it’s with reluctance that he even mentions the fight. Both Niall and Jade look like they have a billion questions, but it doesn’t take more than a growled, “and I really don’t want to talk about it” for them to back down.

What is there to say, anyway?

“Jade,” he says instead. “I have a solid C- in Physics. Can’t we take a break from studying?”

“Um, no,” Jade tells him. “But I’m thinking maybe we should switch to math. You do realize that if you fail the next test, your grade will tank, right? You are not carrying your team all the way to the playoffs just to get benched again, Liam.”

With a sigh, Liam grabs for the stack of flashcards, dragging them closer. Studying is at least an effective distraction, even if Liam can’t help associating his Physics vocab words with Harry’s mouth.

He clears his throat, setting the flash cards back down. “Could we switch to math, actually?”

“Or,” Perrie cuts in, still focused on painting her toes a bright pink. She didn’t actually bring any school work with her, but does have those foam things wedged between each toe. “And this is just a suggestion, but what if we did something, anything at all, that wasn’t related to homework or studying?”

“Seconded,” Niall says, though he hasn’t managed to crack a book open either. He’s mostly just been lying on his bed and scrolling through his phone.

Jade huffs out a sigh. “What am I supposed to do next year when I’m away at college, and you’re all stuck here repeating senior year?”

Perrie grabs Jade’s ankle, dragging her foot into her lap. “Do you want your toes to match mine?”

“No, I like the purple,” Jade tells her, not even putting up a fight as Perrie digs through her bag, pulling out a dark purple bottle. Perrie uncaps the bottle as Jade tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, setting her book onto the floor.

Niall finally looks up. “Don’t tell me it’s that easy to distract Jade from the cause.”

“If you have a rack as nice as mine, it is,” Perrie says, red mouth quirking into a smile.

With a shrug, Jade just says, “Well. She’s not wrong.”

“Great,” Liam says. “Well, if we’re done studying for the day, I think I’m gonna go, um.” He racks his brain for an excuse. “For a run? Gotta, like. Stay in shape.”

“You’ve been weird all week, Liam. What is up with you?”

“Nothing,” Liam says. “Just, um, the—the pressure--”

Niall rolls his eyes. “Oh yeah, haven’t heard _that_ one before.”

“Is this about your fight with Harry?” Perrie asks. “Because, for the record, he’s acting even mopier than you are.”

“I’m not _moping_ ,” Liam starts, while both Niall and Jade give him somewhat uneasy looks. “I just, I have a lot on my plate, and--”

“It’s okay,” Perrie interrupts, head bent over Jade’s foot as she carefully applies purple polish. “To mope, I mean. Yours isn’t the first heart Harry’s broken.” Glancing up at Liam, she adds, a little softer, “You might be the first one to break his, though.”

Liam pushes to his feet. “Yeah, um, I’m just—I’m gonna go for that run, then.”

Nobody stops him as he slips out of Niall’s bedroom.

-

It’s a cruel twist of fate that the first playoff game is against West Dillon.

Liam hasn’t spoken to Harry since their fight, and although it’s only been a week—has it really only been a week? -- the way his scent washes over Liam when the Lions climb off their bus has him reeling with dizziness.

Focusing on his breathing, Liam centers himself, pushing Harry out of his mind. The only thing that matters is beating the Panthers and getting one game closer to State. He warms up with his teammates, and Niall sticks close to his side. His scent isn’t as strong as Harry’s, but he’s pack, and that’s enough.

Liam feels calm and in control when he meets Harry at the center yard line for the coin toss.  

“Home team calls the toss,” the ref says. “Heads or tails, what are you gonna call, son?”

“Tails,” Harry says, eyes boring into Liam’s, and the ref flips the coin, light glancing of its metal surface as it spins.

When it lands, he holds it out for inspection. Heads.

Liam flexes his fingers. “We'll take the ball. Offense.”

The Panthers play hard, but Liam’s Lions give it right back. They leave their complaints on the sidelines and pour their hearts into every play, completely in tune with each other. Liam only staggers a few times when Harry’s scent catches him off guard, but he recovers so quickly only someone with heightened wolf senses would be able to catch it.

He can feel Harry’s eyes on him most of the game; a constant, suffocating weight. When he glances up, Harry doesn't look away. Liam bites down on his mouth guard, lips pulling back to bare his teeth. For a single, dangerous second, Harry’s eyes flash gold.

Then the center snaps the ball to Liam and he loses himself in the play, snapping off a quick throw before dropping his shoulder and gunning straight for Harry. For once, it isn’t Liam who ends up on his back. Harry must not be giving the game everything he’s got, because he goes down hard, head bouncing against the ground with a painful thump.

Liam quickly pushes himself to his knees, breathing hard. Distantly, a whistle blows.

Spitting out his mouth guard, Harry gets an elbow underneath himself, using the leverage to sit up. “Liam, you need to be careful,” he says, voice rough. “You want to blow your chance at a scholarship?”

Climbing to his feet, Liam shakes his head. “It’s alright, Styles, you don’t have to pretend to care anymore. I can handle myself without wolfing out.”

“Liam--”

The ref blows his whistle again, and Liam jogs back to his players. He can feel Harry’s eyes on him the entire time.

Both Dillon teams are evenly matched, but the Lions want it more. A touchdown with minutes left of the game seals the deal, and the atmosphere in the visitor’s locker room is electric.

Still, Liam lingers in the showers, his head bowed to let the water pound against his back and shoulders. Niall doesn’t say anything when he finally dries off, towel wrapped around his hips, just claps him on the shoulder, squeezing gently before herding Clifford and his friends towards the door.

The bus is waiting on him, the Lions players anxious to get back to their side of town to celebrate, so Liam dresses quickly, ignoring the warring thoughts banging around inside his skull.

He only has a moment’s warning when he steps out the door of the field house—just a snatch of smell that twists him up, makes his head spin—before he spots Harry, skulking in the shadows.

“Liam,” he says, scrambling to stand up straight. “Listen--”

It takes every ounce of control Liam’s got in him to keep his voice steady. “What are you doing here, Harry? I know you didn’t come to gloat.”

Taking a step closer, Harry says with urgency, “I don’t care about football, Liam. I care about you.”

“Save it,” Liam says, brushing past him. “That’s great that it makes no difference to you, but football is my life. You’ve been enough of a distraction, don’t you think?”

Harry swallows audibly. “That’s a low blow, Liam.”

Red flashes in front of Liam’s eyes and he’s got a fistful of Harry’s shirt before he realizes what’s happening. Harry doesn’t struggle, doesn’t try to fight his way free. He just stands still, eyes on Liam’s.

Breathing out shakily, Liam manages, “No, you know what’s a low blow? This entire time, I thought you were protecting me, but you were just protecting him.”

Harry’s eyes narrow. “It’s not as black and white as you’re making it seem. I did what I did to protect both of you.”

Liam huffs, dropping Harry’s shirt and taking a step back. “But you only lied to one of us. Look, you don’t have to babysit me, alright? I’m not a liability anymore.”

“You’re still a liability,” Harry says softly. “You could turn Louis in, if you wanted. I wouldn’t blame you.”

The bus is waiting, the engine rumbling. Liam shakes his head. “He ruined my life. I’m not going to return the favor. Leave me alone, Harry. I’m done.”

He leaves before Harry can say anything else, and doesn’t look back.

-

Caught up in the playoff rush, the next full moon sneaks up on Liam, and it's not until the sun has sunk low in the sky that Liam realizes he's got no idea where to go to shift. Harry seems to have an entire network of empty fields at his disposal, but knowing Liam's luck, he'll wind up on someone's private property with a rifle aimed between his eyes.

He can't stay in his room though, that's for sure, and he's about to grab his keys and just start driving when there's a tap at his window.

“What… oh my god, Perrie?” Popping the screen off, Liam shoves the window open. Perrie shimmies through, landing in a pile on Liam's floor. She beams up at him, wearing a full face of makeup. The tips of her blonde hair have been dipped in pink since he last saw her. Liam wonders if her wolf will be pink too.

“What are you doing here?” Liam asks, reaching down to help pull her to her feet.

“You're pack, Liam. You shouldn't have to shift alone.”

“What about--” Liam can't say his name. “Everybody else?” he settles on.

Perrie shrugs. “They'll survive without me for a night. Besides, Jesy's there to keep an eye on things.” Grabbing Liam by the hand, she pulls him towards the window. “As much as I'd love to sit and chat, the sun is setting.”

-

Liam snakes his way to the outskirts of town, following Perrie’s winding directions down deserted roads.

“Pull over here,” she says at last, bouncing out of the truck the second Liam shoves the gearshift into park. Liam follows at a slower pace, barely even feeling the pain as the shift looms closer. Perrie leads him a short distance away, until his truck is out of eyeshot, then pulls her shirt over her head, dropping it to the ground.

Dropping his eyes, Liam shucks off his own clothes. This time the wave of pain makes him grit his teeth, but it’s not long before the sun slips below the horizon and he gives himself over to the shift.

-

Liam wakes up to the tickle of hair under his nose, but when he blinks his eyes open, it’s to a headful of blonde instead of brown.

“Um,” Liam says, and Perrie tilts her chin up, smiling sleepily at Liam. Her mascara survived the shift, but her lips are a normal pink.

“What time is it?” she asks, sitting up and stretching her arms over her head. Liam squeezes his eyes shut.

“Clothes first,” he croaks.

Laughing, Perrie pats Liam softly on the hip. “Please, Liam. I am a lesbian. I have seen so many dicks at this point in my life that while I can appreciate you've got a nice situation, I am really, really not into it.”

Liam rolls over, his face in the dirt. “I wish I were dead.”

Rubbing her hand soothingly up and down his back, Perrie says, “No, you don't.”

“I _do_ ,” Liam insists, and he’s horrified when a sob catches in his throat, his eyes suddenly hot. He sucks in a sharp breath, burying his face in the crook of his elbow. All he can smell is dirt and sweat. It’s wrong. It’s all wrong.

Perrie’s fingers slide into his hair, gently scratching at his scalp. “He’s as miserable as you are, babe. Whatever he did, you have to forgive him.”

“I don’t know how,” Liam mumbles. “Everything he said to me… I believed it, you know? I believed him.”

“Harry is an extraordinarily bad liar,” Perrie tells him. Her fingers disappear from his hair, and a sudden, stinging blow lands square on his bare ass.

With a yelp of surprise, Liam shoots up, gaping at Perrie.

Shrugging, she grins at him, all teeth. “You want to lie in the dirt moping about it, or do you want to blow off school and eat as much ice cream as we possibly can?”

“The second one,” Liam says immediately. “Definitely the second one.”

-

Without Harry or the full moon to distract him, Liam pours all of his time and energy into football.

It takes an entire team to win, but nothing can stop Liam from carrying the team on his shoulders. The Lions win, and they keep winning, and Liam finds himself in front of a camera, a microphone shoved into his face.

“What do you think has been the key to the Lions’ success this season?”

Squinting against the glare of the sun, Liam licks his lips. “You know, we’ve just been playing good football, good, solid, football, and I’m just—I’m grateful to God for giving us the opportunity.”

The reporter nods, like he expected that sort of answer. “And what are the Lions’ chances of winning State?”

Liam doesn’t hesitate. “100 percent, sir.”

-

The night the Lions clinch their spot in the championship game, Liam gets spectacularly drunk with his teammates. He wakes up in his own bed the next afternoon with no memory of how he got there. His head barely hurts, but it still takes him a moment to register the sound of someone trying to break into his window.

Squinting at the too-bright light, Liam rolls out of bed. He’s got on a pair of athletic shorts, at least, though wishes he’d passed out with a shirt on when he realizes who’s scaled his roof this time around.

“Is not using the front door a wolf thing?” Liam asks, shoving the window open far enough for Louis to crawl through. Zayn follows right after, sporting a leather jacket that makes Liam feel distinctly uncool.

Louis ignores him, looking around Liam’s room like it’s a mildly interesting museum. “So,” he says, slipping his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “This is where the enemy sleeps.”

Liam looks at him. “I thought we were all pack here?”

Baring his teeth, Louis says, “Well, you are still a Lion.”

“Lou,” Zayn admonishes. “Play nice.” It’s been a few weeks since Liam talked to anyone in the pack besides Perrie, and he suddenly wonders what he’s missed in that time. Perrie’s gossip didn’t include this particular update.

Louis rolls his eyes. “Fine. Listen, let’s make this brief, shall we? It’s come to our attention that Harry is… how do I put this delicately?” Louis takes a step forward, and somehow he seems so much bigger than his small frame as he stares Liam down. “You ripped out his heart and stomped it to pieces.”

Zayn snorts. “A bit more dramatic than I might’ve gone with, but not inaccurate.”

Gaping at them both, Liam stutters, “But—hold up, okay, that’s not fair. _He’s_ the one who broke _my_ heart.”

“Oh, perfect. Then you can both just forgive each other and let bygones be bygones.” Louis takes another step closer, putting them toe to toe. Liam’s got a few inches on him, but Louis still seems taller somehow. “Do you have any idea how insufferable a broken-hearted Harry Styles is? Do you?”

“I don’t care,” Liam says, though his heart is banging against his rib cage a little painfully. “He lied to me.”

“Harry did what any good alpha would do. He protected his pack.” Louis sniffs. “Falling in love with you was the only mistake he made.”

Liam swallows. His chest is suddenly tight. “What?”

“Louis,” Zayn says quietly.

“I already apologized to him,” Louis mutters. “I don’t know what else you want from me.”

Sliding his arm around Louis’ skinny shoulders, Zayn bumps the knuckles of his opposite hand against Louis’ jaw. “Why don’t I do the rest of the talking, hmm?” Addressing Liam, he adds, “What Louis is trying to say is that Harry’s goal in the beginning was just to look out for the pack’s best interest. That’s true. But he fell for you, Liam. And that wasn’t a mistake.”

Louis huffs out a loud sigh, and Zayn slides his hand over Louis’ mouth without missing a beat. “I don’t know you as well as the others, but I have some shit of my own to atone for. At least give Harry a chance to earn your forgiveness, alright? You’re pack, Liam.”

Grabbing Zayn’s wrist, Louis yanks his hand away. “Alright then. We said our piece. Do with it what you will.”

He slips out the window in a hurry, without looking back, and Zayn rolls his eyes. “You may not have noticed, but Lou has trouble taking responsibility for his mistakes. Harry enables him more than he should, but he means well. He really does. The last thing he wanted to do was hurt you. I can promise you that much.”

It takes Liam a moment to find his voice. “Doesn’t really change anything though, does it? Whether he intended it or not.”

Zayn gives him a long look. “Depends,” he says at last, “if believing it was a mistake makes it something you can forgive.”

-

Liam bunks with Niall at the hotel in Arlington, and the room smells so sterile he almost climbs into his suitcase just to scent his mom’s laundry detergent.

“Alright, bro?” Niall asks, lining his trainers up just so against the wall. His gaze cuts to Liam for a moment, barely-there worry wrinkles creasing his skin.

“Fine,” Liam says. He can’t stop bouncing. “Just gonna go--”

“For a run?” Niall finishes, a lopsided smile pulling at his mouth. “Go on then. I don’t think this room can contain your energy.”

Flashing him a quick grin, Liam flees the room, stretching in the elevator on his way down to the lobby.

Outside, it’s—better. It still doesn’t smell like home, but Liam feels like he can breathe again, sucking in deep lungfuls of air, taking in new scents. He doesn’t stray far from the hotel; has no interest in getting lost in a strange city, or maybe running into a strange pack. Circling the block a few times, he keeps going until he’s burned enough energy that he has a prayer of sleeping tonight. That is, if the nerves don’t keep him up.

Niall’s as anxious as he is, tossing and turning when they finally settle down for bed, the mattress creaking every time he twists. He falls asleep before Liam does, his breathing going slow and even.

Liam lasts all of five minutes before he’s climbing out of bed, digging through his suitcase in the dark. He finds what he’s looking for quickly, shoving the material in his face and breathing it in.

He only allows himself a moment or two before he tucks Harry’s shirt away, back at the bottom of his suitcase. When he crawls back into bed, sleep finds him easily.

-

The morning of the State Championship dawns with clear, sunny skies. The seconds tick by too fast and too slow at the same time, and in a blur of nerves and excitement, Liam finds himself in the locker room, lacing up his cleats.

Coach gathers them together before they take the field, every player taking a knee. “Let me tell you something, boys. Every one of you has earned this moment. Whether you walk off that field a champion or a runner up, you should be proud of yourselves. You got here together. And together, you’re about to play the game of your lives.”

The kick of adrenaline as they walk down the tunnel to the field is like nothing Liam’s ever felt. The crowd is absolutely deafening. Liam’s ears ring with the noise, but when the ref blows his whistle, it all fades to the background.

There’s just Liam and where he needs to put the ball.

It’s not an easy match. The Lions have to claw tooth and nail for every yard, and it’s a tie game by halftime. Liam’s not the only one covered in sweat, shaking with adrenaline as they troop back into the locker room, and a glance around at his teammates cements the only thing that matters: they all want this as much as he does.

Wanting it isn’t enough, though. The second half is even more brutal, and they enter the fourth quarter trailing by four points. A championship ring is close enough that Liam could reach out and snatch it, but it’s slipping through his fingers.

The clock ticks down, taking their dwindling chance with it. Adrenaline surges in Liam’s blood, but no red pricks at his vision.

There’s just Liam and his wolf, in tune with the same goal.

With less than a minute left, Coach calls a final timeout. “Scrap the playbook, boys. We’ve only got one shot left. Payne, you got one more throw in you?”

“Yes, sir.”

The center snaps the ball, and there’s 43 yards between Liam and the end zone. He can get the ball there, he knows he can, but a Hail Mary only works if there’s someone there to catch it.

With clear eyes, Liam snaps off a throw. The ball spirals tightly, sailing down the field, and time stops when it reaches the end zone.

Niall’s fingers close around the ball, and he goes down on his knees, skidding across the grass.

Touch-down.

For a moment, the world goes quiet. Sound catches up as the seconds run out, and it doesn’t sink in at first. Liam blinks at the scoreboard, checking and double checking the score.

It’s real. The East Dillon Lions are Texas State Champions. Someone’s hugging him, squeezing tight, and there are people shouting in his ear, and it should be overwhelming, the noise and the smells and the commotion, but Liam’s never felt more alive.

The crowd swarms, Lions fans storming the field in a sea of red. Liam’s caught in the crush, swept up in the flow, and that’s when he sees him.

Harry’s standing on the sidelines, thumbs jammed into his pockets and his shoulders slumped beneath his red shirt. Every line of his body is tense, and his eyes are on Liam, waiting for him to make the choice.

Liam pushes his way through the crowd, cutting through easily until he and Harry are face to face. He pulls up short, even as Harry’s familiar scent threatens to buckle his knees.

“Liam,” Harry says, pulling his hand from his pocket only to shove it through his hair instead. “I’m sorry.”

“I know,” Liam says.

Harry doesn’t look away, his gaze steady, his irises a clear green. “I love you. It's not a wolf thing, either.”

Liam closes his eyes. “I know.”

“Liam--”

Taking a step forward, Liam closes the space between them. Their foreheads bump, and one of Harry’s hands settles on Liam’s hip, his touch uncertain. Liam tilts his chin until their mouths meet, pouring everything he’s feeling into the kiss.

“Little far from your territory, aren’t you?” he whispers against Harry’s lips.

Harry laughs. “I suppose I am. I think I’d follow you anywhere, Liam Payne.”

Grinning, Liam kisses him again.

**Author's Note:**

> as always, comments/feedback are hugely appreciated! you can also come say hi on [tumblr](http://moondoggiestyle.tumblr.com/)!


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